


prod youngjo

by frosmxths



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, M/M, Medium Burn, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, Strangers to Lovers, coffee shop au? sort of. with a dash of magic creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29797815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frosmxths/pseuds/frosmxths
Summary: And, well, if anything, at least he would be able to say that he got scammed by averycute guy, and that’s a win in his boring book of life, in his humble opinion—even if Dongju would most definitely kick his ass and call him a useless and stupid fuckinggay—And then he’d go on with his life.Starting with a man with a purple halo and little wings showing up at Seoho's workplace, Seoho escapes his routine— Starting with a man with a purple halo and eyes full of love, Seoho opens his heart, and lets himself love.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn, Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Keonhee/Lee Seoho, Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Keonhee, Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho, Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Keonhee, Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho, Lee Keonhee/Lee Seoho, Lee Seoho & Son Dongju | Xion, Lee Seoho & Yeo Hwanwoong, Son Dongju | Xion/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 13
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to yet another little trip with magic and feelings

Back when he was younger, less tired of the world and maybe a little more innocent and full of dreams, Seoho used to have a regular sleep schedule.

When he was younger, Seoho used to wake up early in the morning and function, all proper and put-together, and then would go to bed at a reasonable time, rinse and repeat, ready to take on a new day all too brightly over and over again.

When he was younger, that is, but not anymore.

See, he still gets up at what he considers _stupidly_ _early_ whenever he can, and he’s always awake together with the sun, but sleeping _early_ under any circumstance is out of the question.

Though, Seoho muses—hand clicking on the worn-out button of a very old phone model he had rescued the prior week, and on which he’s currently playing a never-ending game of Snake (despite the always dying battery Seoho kept having to _buzz_ )—it depends on how you look at it. He could argue he tends to sleep early, because it’s all subjective, anyway, and 2pm _is_ pretty early, all things considered, when it comes to being _bedtime—_

Just, you know, it’s always after pulling an all-nighter, and then he always wakes up at maybe 8 or 9pm, and so he only really lives at night and around the ass crack of dawn (and then some, depending on when he got his ass out of his usual café and got himself to go home and become a little bed bug until it was time to function again), so maybe 2pm _isn’t_ all that early, but—

The pixel snake crashes against its own tail at the same time it hits 3:30am—Seoho startles, phone slipping from his hand as the snake goes onto its endless loop _of crashing against a wall of new games,_ and then the brick phone _dies_ , battery from a measly but strong 10 to a complete _zero,_ and all of Seoho’s thoughts fly out the window.

3:30am means he has 30 _glorious_ minutes before freedom.

A positive.

But— _but—_ 3:30am also means he has 30 _inglorious_ minutes to finish cleaning up the damn store, or his boss will have his ass when Seoho comes back to work the next night.

More than one negative.

He had meant to do it all earlier, really, but then he got _really_ into playing Snake in an effort to rid of his boredom and _maybe_ revive his innocent youth, and time just sort of flew by, and now he has a very sad, very glorious, mere 30 minutes.

Negative after negative—he has to get his ass to work, Snake has to wait.

He groans, arms outstretched as he makes a noise much like a dog’s squeaky toy, before he drops the brick phone on top of the counter in front of him—he gives it a light tap, backlight coming to life with the manufacturer’s logo, and the dead battery goes back up to half or a quarter.

Seoho stares.

The phone turns back off, of course—he sighs, pulls out his _other_ phone, the one that actually works for something other than Snake and without Seoho having to send it power at every second, and drops it on the counter.

He taps at the glass surface until the screen turns on, watches the little number go from 3:32 to 3:33, and breathes out with a smile.

Work.

He pushes himself up with a jump, taps at the phone screen a few times—sets an alarm for 4am.

Hopefully, he can finish before then.

Walking through the store and against the echo of his footsteps, he hums along to whatever song had been coming from a customer’s broken little radio earlier that’s not stuck in his head (the song had been in a constant _loop,_ much to the poor man’s dismay, until Seoho gave it a tap, flicked at the speakers until the _very_ bored spirit popped out—all flicking kitty ears and 100% menace—and Seoho had to wrangle it a new home so the poor customer didn’t have to fear for their life—because their landlord had grown to hate the radio and its endlessly repeating _90s latest hits_ …

or whatever it was that the customer had said, Seoho can’t remember all too well). He grabs a clean-enough rag and disinfectant spray from the little utility closet, lets the door fall shut.

How mundane, how peaceful, how _common—_

If only magic could do his chores for him—but then he’d feel bad, because he’s getting _paid_ for this, and that’d feel like cheating, since not everyone can use magic, and cheating is bad, and he doesn’t _want_ to cheat—

So, really, he can’t win.

Ever.

But it’s whatever, he guesses, walks back to his half-dead smartphone and its sad cracked screen on top of the counter. He stops in front of it, taps it thrice without much care, leaves some calm pop playlist going, and gets to work.

At the very least, working at an odd hardware store lost to the noises of a relatively busy street of a big city that deals with electronics and little magic creatures (and thus, scares off most people by their strange fear of the unknown), means that Seoho can sing his heart out without worry.

No one will come in at this time, no one will bother to listen to him and complain about the noise, not from outside, not from inside—the cars are louder than he is, after all.

It’s almost liberating—a little almost like not existing—and Seoho finds solace in being himself like that, in indulging in innocent dreams and his heart’s desires where no one can see or hear—finds solace in being himself when he might as well not be real.

He stops as the song ends and passes to the next, beat a little faster—and there’s a skip in his step as he sings along, walks towards another cabinet—

Red eyes look up at him from between shadows inside a rusty alarm clock, and Seoho blinks at the little kitty, watches it stretch and curl its little _ghostly_ tail before it settles into a little ball of shadows.

Seoho sprays the smell of flowers with the disinfectant and rubs with the rag, little circles as he hums to the end of the chorus, and the kitten meows.

He sighs.

It’s not that working late bothers him—in fact, he doesn’t mind his odd schedule all that much, really— but he _hates_ how late nights and early mornings always seem to get him _thinking_ —thinking about nothing and about too many things, thinking about youth and about possibilities, thinking about his lunch and the colour of sunrise—

He’s always thinking too much for no reason, with no _aim—_

It’s exhausting.

Mundane is alright, but everything feels _lacking—_

Mundane is alright, it’s fine, it’s good— but everything feels empty, feels _boring—_

Maybe he needs to spice up his life, go out some more, text old friends and tell them how he’s doing—but he doesn’t really want to do that, it doesn’t feel like it’ll really help, it doesn’t feel any less _empty—_

The little kitty meows again, looks up at him with red eyes that are a little too piercing, and nods as if in agreement.

A beat, the song ends, the song changes—

And Seoho laughs, kneels down more comfortably to tap at the glass once, twice, _thrice—_ tap until the kitten hisses, fur of shadows standing on end, and hides away in the darkness of broken circuits.

“Kitties should not be reading minds” he scolds as he stands back up, voice amused and a little playful even so— there’s a muted meow from inside and between the old gears, it makes Seoho laugh again, makes him tap at the glass once more before moving on to the next cabinet.

He’s arranging things inside metal drawers when a song he has yet to learn the lyrics for comes on. He drops the last in his hands, picks up the rag and plastic spray bottle, dusts his hands as best as he can while walking towards his phone.

He’s in the middle of properly using his phone for once, itching to sing the lyrics but unable to recall them, when the sharp bell of the store entrance rings.

Seoho stops, lowers his phone again.

A customer? And at almost closing time, too—that’s odd.

And so, with the weight of his heart and his paycheck, instead of looking at the lyrics he’d just been searching for, Seoho gives a couple of taps to the back of his phone—pauses the music and bookmarks the lyrics with the touch—and shoves it in his pocket, rag in hand and bright customer service smile in place (even if he’s pretty sure he looks like a mess) as he turns around to face the door.

“Hello,” The stranger that’s just walked in stops, wandering eyes stopping on Seoho. “It’s almost closing time, sorry, but you’re welcome to—”

“Were you the one singing?” The stranger’s voice cuts Seoho off—it’s soft—as soft as he looks, hair a fluffy dark purple that falls over wide eyes—and his tone is honest wonder, almost _amazed_ as he looks at Seoho, eyes all too pretty, softly flickering halo crooked where it hovers and turns over his head.

(Some sort of angel? But Seoho hasn’t seen a halo like this one before—)

Seoho blinks, takes a step back to drop the dirty rag on the countertop—pulls at the ends of his sleeves with a crooked smile.

“Yes?” He taps at the old phone still on the counter, turns off the alarm and dials the emergency number, just in case— “Sorry, was I too loud?”

“No, not at all” and the stranger’s eyes widen further, somehow—and his small wings (flickering and pretty, much like his halo—black and purple and red intertwined in dark shades and beauty, almost _translucent_ ) seem to _flutter_ as he smiles oh so _brightly—_ “You weren’t loud at all, it’s just—” and he takes a step forward, and Seoho takes a step back, bumps against the counter with a smile that’s all nerves and too much _tension_ —“Your voice is beautiful”

Seoho had been all but ready to greet either _death_ or a hospital at the hands of a robber—had been ready to call emergency and run for his _life_ if needed—

But that’s somehow not what’s happening right now, and Seoho’s not really _afraid—_

He blinks again, lets his lips part in an awkward laugh—a high giggle that bubbles to the air, turns on and off the broken phones and forgotten instruments that litter the small store he calls his workplace—

“Oh” The stranger steps back, then—wide-eyed in a different way than before, hands a little tense and awkward in front of him as he laughs a little, too— “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I—” he waves his hands in front of him, takes another half-step back as he looks at Seoho like a very startled _cat—_ “Did I scare you?”

And the stranger sounds a _little_ choked up—a little like he, too, is _terrified_ —

Seoho can’t help but _snort._

“Yes” he relaxes his hands on the counter, leans his weight back a little more with a smile that’s a little calmer, looser, and another laugh— “Like, thank you, but—” and he breaks into a fit of giggles, eyes following the way the crooked halo seems to swing from side to side—seems to spin in place a little faster, colours to red and purple a little brighter as the stranger pulls apologies to the tip of his tongue—

“I’m so sorry” again—and one of the circuit kittens meows, and Seoho feels the trick and buzz of 4am from the little brick phone and the analog clock that _tick tocks_ on the wall—and he laughs again.

“I thought you were here to yell at me” a pause, a breath, a shadow kitten in the corner that meows in complaint (the lights are still on, and Seoho’s a few minutes late now, and the shadow kittens do _not_ appreciate that, whiny as they are—). “Or, like, try to rob the store”

“No!” a little too quick, too loud—the stranger waves his hands around franticly, hall9o flickering to the rhythm of his emotions as he tries to catch his breath and words (or, well, so Seoho guesses). “It’s just—” and he drops his hands, shoves them in the pockets of his jacket as he looks away, hair to his eyes and black skirt swishing with abrupt movement. “I always walk by here in the mornings, and—”

“It’s not even dawn yet?” playful, light—together with a quirk of Seoho’s eyebrow, a half-smile— the stranger only huffs, amused, and gives a shrug.

“You’re always singing, right? And you— you’re just… very good, you have a really beautiful voice” soft, a little embarrassed—eyes still to the wall, the floor—

And it’s so… _honest—_ heartfelt and true in the purest of ways, to the point that Seoho can’t even doubt him, even if he’s a stranger, even if he could be _lying—_

“Thank you” he tries for a layer of fake confidence, a little smug mask, hands to the pockets of his jeans and both phones off—he blinks, lets out a laugh, bright, careful— “I’m flattered you’d even stop by to tell me” and he taps at the floor—and the register whirrs to shut down, and the computer fan spins out of power, and a shadow kitten purrs from the motherboard, another from the door— “But I _really_ need to close down right now? I’m touched, really, but—”

“Would you mind, like—” the stranger cuts Seoho off with nervous eyes—with a flickering and an avoidant gaze even as he tries to catch Seoho’s eyes—with his wings drooping with nerves and his hair ruffled by his own movement— “Have you ever thought about singing professionally? Even just one song is fine—”

“Are you _scouting_ me?” Seoho half-laughs, head cocked to the side as he lets himself smirk. “Admirable you’d do it at four in the morning, but” he lets his eyes close a second, shrugs, taps at the floor again and lets the lights at the back turn off— “I’m a little too old for idol life now, I think—”

“Yes, sort of” the stranger interrupts, pauses—straightens his back, eyes dropping to the floor— “Not for idol life, though, so it’s—”

“I’m not a teenager, mind you—”

“That’s fine! Like—” He glances up, catches Seoho’s eyes at _last_ with a little crooked smile and flickering purple-red array of colours— “I’m a music producer, so—it wouldn’t be for anything _big_ , or for an idol group, just—” He takes in a breath, gives a _minuscule_ shrug that Seoho can’t help but find a little cute. “Your voice—you have such a beautiful voice, and you’re so good at singing, I’d—um—I’d like to collab with you, if possible?”

“Collab?” Seoho pushes off the counter, then, weight on the floor now and interest _piqued—_

He thinks back to his dreams—he thinks back to music, to a path—he thinks back to when he was 20, younger, older—

“Just one track, if it’s—if you could?” and it’s the closest Seoho’s heard someone to _begging_ , voice edging on something a little like desperation and a lot like _nerves—_

And it’s…for him—for Seoho’s _singing_ , his _voice—_

Inside Seoho’s brain there are two wolves—one of them, more rational and put-together, tells him that this could be a scam, this could be dangerous, he can’t just believe every random person that walks into his workplace with pretty words, _dammit—_

The other, more emotional, wanting to _dream,_ to believe—and especially more willing to _yolo_ its way through life—tells him that, well, _Fuck it—_

It’s not like Seoho has much to lose if he were to get scammed anyway (At most, Changyoon would _politely_ call him a dumbass, and Dongju would _non-politely_ kick his ass so hard Seoho wouldn’t be able to walk for at least a week— both things that Seoho thinks he could, hypothetically, deal with), and this _very_ gay wolf in his brain just so happens to _also_ think that the stranger is adorably honest— what with his droopy wings and flashing halo he seems to keep failing to conceal, not to mention cat-like features and a gaze full of so much _kindness—_

Nothing about him really screams _danger_ , and Seoho’s willing to trust that—

And, well, if anything, at least he would be able to say that he got scammed by a _very_ cute guy, and that’s a win in his boring book of life, in his humble opinion—even if Dongju would most definitely kick his ass and call him a useless and stupid fucking _gay_ —

And then he’d go on with his life.

He’s good at self-defence—he’s also good at sensing when things go _fishy—_

But, and most importantly, he’s good at making everything go the way _he_ wants.

(Dongju hates him for it.)

So, with all this in mind, what does he do?

He steps away from the counter—into the stranger’s space—phone held in his right hand and a playful smile on his features—nerves a thin layer of sweat to his forehead, pink and green strands of bleach-damaged hair tickling at his ears, too aware, too daring—

“Would you like my phone number?”

Because Seoho’s gay, alright, _sue him_ — if a cute guy tells him he’s got the voice of an angel and he wants to collab, he’s not going to say _no_ —he will risk his wallet _and_ his heart, whatever, he just _can’t_ say no, he’s too _gay,_ the stranger’s too cute—

And— _and—_ his gay gayness aside—Seoho’s also cursed with an infinite curiosity.

Which happens to be piqued.

And so.

(The stranger says yes, all too excited and _way_ too cute, and Seoho ends up leaving work towards his usual café with _Kim Youngjo_ in his contacts and a smile on his face.

And the usual, of course—which is maybe ten shadow kittens on his bag and hair, quiet meows as they walk into his headphones and mess up the sound—

He doesn’t mind.)

____

“There’s a cat on your shoulder” As soon as Seoho makes it to the front counter of the café, Dongju greets him with a half-smile—looking all too bored and maybe a little amused. Seoho shrugs.

“There’s _always_ shadow cats here” Dongju pushes himself forward, stands up from the little chair he was lounging on, drags himself to stand in front of the register. “I think you might have an invasion”

“You bring them” Dongju looks up—eyes on Seoho’s face as he gives him a smile—then to side and towards the _one_ other usual customer at this time of the early morning. “Tea?”

“Tea” Seoho pulls out his card absent-mindedly, places it by Dongju’s hands as he types in the usual order—follows the direction of Dongju’s gaze, off to the side and a little behind him.

The other usual customer, the only other person who’s odd enough to basically _live_ at the café from ungodly hours of the night until after dawn— Hwanwoong, if Seoho remembers the name right—and Dongju’s _very_ subtle sort of crush, sort of extreme worry.

Seoho’s one thing—he works at night, lives at night, sleeps during the day—but Hwanwoong seems to be completely different—he seems to have an _actual_ daytime job, seems to be a properly scheduled and functional member of society—

Just, he was _also_ always here, and only ever slept an hour or four at most—interspersed throughout the night and early morning, and always on top of a table and very much interrupted.

Seoho’s never talked to him, and he tries not to get into people’s business, but even _he_ gets a little worried—

“I bring the cats _back_ ” Attentive on Hwanwoong, still, on his peripheral vision, Seoho brings back earlier conversation—lets the little shadow cat climb off his shoulder and onto the wooden counter. Dongju frowns at it, brown and orange eyes on the kitty’s red ones. “They stick to me here”

“I don’t raise shadow kittens” Dongju gives the kitten a little pat with his finger, despite his complaints, then pushes back and turns towards the water.

“Never said you did” Seoho walks off to the side, away from the register and towards the bar-like area, sits down on a tall chair, glances at Hwanwoong as he waits. “He’s asleep on the table again, isn’t he?”

Dongju sighs, pushes a mug that’s _maybe_ a little bigger than what Seoho just paid for in Seoho’s direction, and nods. “I’m worried his neck’s gonna hurt,” He pouts, just a little, all too cute as he twirls whatever hair hadn’t made it into his ponytail with one hand. “Don’t wanna wake him up, though…”

Seoho nods, takes the mug between his hands—warm enough he can drink it right away, because like always, Dongju’s _too_ good at handling temperatures—spares another glance at Hwanwoong as he takes a sip.

The same shadow kitten from earlier curls up by where Dongju’s shoulder is resting on the wooden surface, meows quietly—Dongju looks down at the little shadow ball, concerned frown on pretty features as he glances at Hwanwoong a split-second, then focuses on petting the little cat—

Usually, Seoho would just hum along to Dongju’s worries—would sip his tea and make small talk as shadow kitties invaded their land (the café) and meowed for attention—would then let Dongju go back to whatever drama he had been watching before Seoho interrupted by arriving—would scroll and play on his phone until it was properly daytime, would leave to go home at maybe 7am, when people _actually_ started coming into the café, and when Hwanwoong had just left looking the closest Seoho’s ever seen to a zombie.

That was the usual, their _routine._

Seoho doesn’t have an issue with it, but, for some reason, he kind of wants… _change._

Mundane is alright, routine is alright—but it’s boring, it feels _lacking—_

Seoho hadn’t realized how much _so_ until earlier, when he gave Youngjo his number, reason to the wind and thoughts refusing to turn the right way—it had been a small change, a little presence that came and went, just a new number, a new chatroom to talk in, a new stranger of _many—_

But it had been a change—and Seoho didn’t know he craved change before, but now he does—

And he’s willing to _make_ a change—feels brave enough to break routine, break something _mundane—_

And maybe tomorrow will be the same as yesterday was, and maybe things won’t change again, but— at the very least— _today_ won’t be boring—

And that’s all that matters.

“I can wake him up?” He lowers his mug, hears it _tap_ lightly on the table as Dongju looks up at him, shadow kitten looking up together with him even with its paws up as it is— “You’re always saying you want to, like, offer him the staff room, right?”

“What?” and Dongju’s shocked enough Seoho can see flashes of sharp fangs and horns for a second before they fade away—it makes Seoho smile.

“What what?” He laughs a little bit, taps at his mug with a little shrug. “You won’t be the one bothering him, so you don’t have to feel bad”

“Why?” and the kitten rolls over so its sitting like a little loaf, unamused at losing Dongju’s attention and careful pets— so Seoho gives it a little pat before it complains, smiles at Dongju.

“I’m nice,” the kitten purrs, Dongju huffs—gives an eye-roll and rests his cheek against his hand, eyes on Hwanwoong again. “We can’t just _watch_ forever, right? I’m also worried”

And Dongju blinks—a little shocked, taken aback—before he nods, tucks hair behind his ear and looks at cooling pastries—“You can use the staff room too, if you want” shy, _cute—_ Seoho laughs out a _thank you_ , pushes off the chair and ruffles at Dongju’s hair—Dongju complains, loud as usual, smacks at Seoho’s face all too softly before he moves back—

And then Seoho’s walking across the small café, still empty, still peaceful, until he reaches Hwanwoong’s chosen table for the day.

And, indeed, with his head resting over crossed arms and his glasses haphazardly thrown on the small table (over a lightly scratched tablet and its pen throw a little off to the side, a little away from a phone thrown face down and with a cute case with little cats), Hwanwoong’s asleep.

It’s kind of amazing that he can sleep like that, Seoho can give the guy that, but he can’t imagine it’s comfortable.

Today, Hwanwoong’s ever-changing hair is a soft silver, pastel strands of pink and blue messy and falling over his neck and ears, chain from his helix piercing tangling together with his hair in pretty silver—it’s cute, and he looks peaceful for once, but unfortunately, Seoho has to interrupt the guy’s nap.

For his own good.

“Hwanwoong-ssi?” He shakes his shoulder softly, pulls out a quiet whine, a complaint— “Your neck’s gonna hurt, hey” another light shake, another complaint—Seoho sighs, pushes a little harder, is considering if _maybe_ he should just scare the poor guy when—

“Huh?” Seoho pulls his hand back at the soft voice, steps sideways so he’s a little more in front of Hwanwoong— and, _very_ slowly, Hwanwoong pushes himself up, blinks his eyes open even if _unseeing_ —

“Sorry for waking you” Seoho tries his best to speak softly—Hwanwoong just _blinks_ , gaze on _nothing_ as he seems to _slowly_ get himself to function—

“Closing time?” he reaches for his glasses with one hand, brings the other to rub at his eyes, his cheek—

“No” Seoho lets himself laugh, pushes Hwanwoong’s glasses closer to his hand. “Just— your neck’s gonna hurt if you sleep like that” and another little laugh as Hwanwoong slips on his glasses, crooked at first, pushes back his bangs and cocks his head to the side—

And then his neck _cracks—_ Hwanwoong whines, brings his hands to the back of his neck, lets his eyes fall tightly shut—

God, _two_ very cute boys in a day, Seoho’s going to _die—_

“If you want,” and he glances up at Dongju—sees the way he’s watching them a _little_ too intently, fox ears in display for _once_ and twitching in Seoho’s direction— “You can sleep in the staff room? Dongju said it’s alright”

“Oh” Hwanwoong blinks again, keeps his eyes open—lets his hands lower and gives a _tiny_ nod— “What time is it?”

“Not six yet” and Hwanwoong nods again, picks up his bag at sloth speed, carefully throws his things in— “Do you need help?”

“…No” Hwanwoong stops, stares at his bag like it’s alien—like he _really_ has no idea where his own stuff goes or what he’s supposed to even be _doing—_ “Maybe…”

Seoho laughs, picks up the tablet to flip the cover shut—helps Hwanwoong find his glasses case so he doesn’t sleep on them—picks up odd things here and there and shoves receipts and cards into Hwanwoong’s bag—

“You can sleep on the couch there, come on” and Hwanwoong mumbles out a sleepy _thank you_ , fixes his bag strap across his chest— “I’ll tell Dongju to wake you up” a smile—Hwanwoong mumbles out another _thank you_ , voice still soft, cute—stands up with a stretch like a cat, arms to the front and then up (and Seoho could _swear_ he sees the shadow of cat ears and a tail twitching in the air a second, too fast for Seoho to be sure—to process—), gives Seoho a sleepy smile—

And he’s cute, Hwanwoong, and his shadow jumps a _little_ more than shadows tend to—and his hair’s a mess with little shadow kittens that appear and disappear—and there’s tiny red eyes that stare at Seoho from cloth creases, from Hwanwoong’s bag, from his hair, from his _shadow_ —

And he’s short—shorter than Seoho guessed he’d be—and he follows Seoho to the back room with slow steps—and Dongju follows them with eyes full of _relief—_

And, as he drops Hwanwoong off and heads back to the front, Seoho wonders if _maybe_ tomorrow (or later, depends on how you see it, he guesses) could be a little interesting, too.

_____

  
The first thing Seoho sees upon waking up that night is an influx of messages from Youngjo on his half-dead phone—he forgot to put it to charge before going to bed, smart as he is, so the little cracked screen is on its last breaths when Seoho picks it up to give it a little _bzzz—_

The battery goes up to 20%, Seoho considers good enough for now—unlocks his phone and opens Youngjo’s chat.

**K. Youngjo:**

| 

seoho-ssi!!!!!!! 😊  
  
---|---  
  
| 

i know we’ve already talked about this and i already thanked u but  
  
| 

thank u so much😖😖  
  
| 

i really didn’t think u’d say yes esp because i just showed up like that😥😥😥  
  
| 

ah  
  
| 

about the collab right  
  
| 

since u’re probably not expecting just random chat!! also so u can see i’m not  
  
| 

dangerous haha…  
  
  
Below that, there’s a couple of links to Youngjo’s work—his music channel with one or two nicely but cheaply produced MVs, his Spotify page, his _SoundCloud_ —among other things. Seoho gives them a quick look, scrolls through the guy’s lyrics and music as he gets up, waves a soft good morning to his morning when he sees him on the way to the bathroom—

Seoho was kind of expecting, well, _nothing—_ Youngjo had just randomly showed up in his workplace, after all, and he hadn’t really bothered to look up his name even after he knew it— but he’s pleasantly surprised to find that Youngjo is _good._

He seems to be self-managed, seems to work together with mainly two other people—two other voices, one deeper and one higher—and Seoho finds that he likes their synergy a _lot—_

Part of him tells him that there is _no way_ he can fit into their music, but he kicks it to the curb with the knowledge and belief that he is absolutely _sexy_ (when it comes to being a good singer, he means—he means he’s really good, alright)—he’s good at singing, good enough at music he can figure out harmonies and (while he’s not a professional in any way) he knows his voice’s capabilities.

He’s still surprised that Youngjo’s this good, though, and also that he seems to _actually_ have a decent following—it’s all independent production, all _homey_ even if not going for that vibe, and Seoho really likes his style—

He likes the tracks, the vocals— likes the way it all works together.

It’s really nice—

“Oh” Changyoon walks into the bathroom as Seoho is mid-toothbrushing, comfortable pyjama shirt on as he wiggles his way to the side of the sink where his facial care things are stored. “I didn’t know you listened to Ravn”

Seoho spits into the sink, looks up at Changyoon’s head of light brown hair on the mirror. “You know him?”

“Hyojin linked me his stuff” Changyoon grabs a headband, a couple of things Seoho can’t really remember the name of. “I like it a lot”

“I just started listening to him today” Changyoon stops behind Seoho, pushes overgrown bangs away from his nose, forehead—Seoho pauses, washes his mouth once more, rinses everything off and drops his toothbrush wherever it might fall. “Surprised he’s good”

“Saw some bad reviews?” Seoho fixes his hair, Changyoon only tilts his head to the side slightly.

“Nah” Seoho laughs, shrugs before turning around, flicking the lights off as they both exit the bathroom. “Hadn’t heard of him before, just—he showed up at the store suddenly and then we exchanged numbers, so—”

“What?” They stop on the hallway, doors to their rooms one next to the other—Seoho shrugs, gives Changyoon a smile. “Halo and all?”

“Halo and all, yeah” and Changyoon looks equal parts amazed and _concerned_ (but, well, Seoho’s not sure if he’s actually concerned or if that’s just… his face), immediately stepping forward and a little into Seoho’s space.

“You gave your number to a stranger?” Oh— _actual concern_ —alright, Seoho probably had that coming, but—

“He didn’t seem dangerous, and it worked out fine?” A crooked little smile, Changyoon sighs—steps back and out of Seoho’s space with a hand pushing his bangs back. “I’m fine, hyung”

“You concern me” Changyoon holds himself close, blows hair out of his face again with a little frown. “Tell him I’m a fan”

“Will do” and Changyoon gives him a nod that makes Seoho laugh before they both turn their separate ways.

**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

and um yeah  
  
---|---  
  
| 

🌹🔥  
  
| 

if u’re still interested  
  
| 

let me know?  
  
| 

if not just ignore me? or tell me no hehe  
  
| 

looking forward to hearing from you🔥🔥  
  
| 

hope we can work together🔥🔥🌹💜  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

oh  
  
| 

sexc  
  
| 

_sexc_  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

sex…y…?  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

yah that  
  
| 

ik i agreed on a whim but damn  
  
| 

ure really good im Swoonin  
  
| 

id like to work together too  
  
| 

:D !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
| 

sorry i dont have any fancy links of my voice tho oops  
  
| 

u said ur manager might ask for some right i think I have some in  
  
| 

soemwhere  
  
| 

of me lke scremaing in the mideele of the ngiht  
  
| 

maybe  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

oh  
  
| 

if not it’s fine hehe😆  
  
| 

we can like have a meeting and you can sing to him  
  
| 

and the rest of the the  
  
| 

small team  
  
| 

if ure ok with that 🔥  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

heya rthats sseyx  
  
| 

sexy  
  
| 

ill woo everyone with my beautyfil voice andflawsless perseonality  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

haha  
  
| 

i'm sure u will  
  
| 

😉  
  
  
For the music he writes, Youngjo sure is… _greasy_. Something about his little blurbs of self-introduction and the way he talks to Seoho—it all feels like he’s being looked at with bedroom eyes.

Is Seoho into that? Unfortunately.

**Seoho:**

| 

oh mr ravn u flatter me  
  
---|---  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

haha  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

Oh yeah  
  
| 

so my roomamtes  
  
| 

rooomates  
  
| 

rommmmamate  
  
| 

he is justone  
  
| 

hes a fan he wnated memtotell you  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

woah  
  
| 

really?????  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

yah  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

tell him thank you  
  
| 

🥰 🌹  
  
| 

makes me happy hehe  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

will do will do  
  
| 

so like  
  
| 

i guess i gotta let u know  
  
| 

about my life scheduile  
  
**Kim Youngjo:**

| 

i'd like that 🔥  
  
  
And so, he does—tells Youngjo that he is _very_ sorry, but he can only make time in the early morning or odd times during the weekends, that if that’s a problem then it’s alright—tells Youngjo that he works because he doesn’t know what else to do, tells Youngjo about singing when he was younger, tells Youngjo about dreams of music, just a little bit—

And it’s natural and easy—maybe because they have _music_ in common—so Seoho talks a lot, and Youngjo listens—

And Youngjo talks, too, and it’s something that’s still superficial, still careful, _unknown_ —but it’s nice.

It’s really nice.

It’s Tuesday night, Seoho has work until Wednesday morning—4am, like always— and so on for the rest of the week, and Youngjo has work during the day—like a regular person, of course—and works on music in the evening and during weekends—which is when Seoho’s never awake—so it’s all a mess, but they manage to find a good time and day.

They agree to meet up the next Saturday, because Youngjo can’t on this one, at Dongju’s café, at around 10am—and Seoho realizes he’s breaking the routine again like this, realizes he’s going to be around when the café is actually busy for _once_ and will probably be falling asleep because he won’t be able to get home and collapse at his usual time—

But it’s fine—breaking it is fine—breaking it is _good—_

(He steps out into the early April chill with a smile on his face—with his phone playing Youngjo’s music, so he can get more used to it, and with life a little brighter—

Breaking routine’s hard, it’s weird—but it’s interesting.

Seoho had forgotten how much he liked it.)

____

He shows up at Dongju’s café the next day at about 4:30am, like usual, nose a little red from the biting cold of the early morning and hair falling on his eyes behind his glasses. Like always, it’s mostly empty, only the odd night creature here and there, but there’s _one_ stark difference from his routine—

Hwanwoong is not only fully awake, but he’s sitting by the front bar, hands holding onto a _very_ cute mug Seoho hasn’t seen at the café before, and amiably chatting with Dongju.

Seoho blinks—taps at his phone to pause his music before walking towards the register— is about to call Dongju over to ring him up for his usual early morning tea when Hwanwoong stands up and—

“Seoho-ssi?” he walks over with his hands in his pocket, nonchalant, but the fluffy shadow ears on top of his head give away his nerves— twitching here and there together with a somehow fluffy-looking tail that moves from left to right, all translucent and the colour of moonlight.

Those weren’t there yesterday— _hell_ , those have never been there at _all—_

“Hi” Seoho gives him a smile, a little awkward wave— “You’re awake today, I see?”

“Yes” Hwanwoong nods—stops in his tracks and blinks a little bit, ears twitching to the sides as he all but avoids Seoho’s eyes—“Somehow,” He pouts (cute), blinks again—“You’re always coming by, but we’ve never talked?” Seoho nods, watches one of the _accursed_ shadow kitties show up from behind Hwanwoong’s neck, from his hoodie, his _sleeves—_ “Dongju told me your name, I hope you don’t mind—I mean, like, you knew mine yesterday, so you can’t really complain?”

For how _slow_ he always was whenever Seoho saw him, and for how sleepy the guy seemed to live, Hwanwoong sure speaks _fast—_

Another shadow kitten shows up, this time from behind one of the shadow ears—dark moonlight colour a cute contrast to the _hot pink_ of Hwanwoong’s hair today—Seoho stares—

“Anyway, I wanted to—um—say thank you? Since you woke me up yesterday and—”

And Seoho doesn’t _mean_ to interrupt, he’s not rude like that, but his mouth seems to be moving faster than his rational brain right now _because—_

“Are the cats yours?” Seoho all but blurts out—cuts Hwanwoong off and leaves him blinking at nothing, little kitties purring in amusement over his hair and _everywhere_ and making Seoho want to _coo—_

“The cats?” Hwanwoong blinks again, brings a hand up to his hair—pats around and at a few kitties that seem to be kneading his head—“You mean, like, these?” and he’s pointing at one that’s sitting, all loaf-y and _very_ comfortable, over one of the hinges of his glasses.

“Those, yeah” Seoho nods, all too serious, all too _attentive_ as the little kitty meows, stretches its paws _way_ too close to Hwanwoong’s eye— “Do you raise them?”

“Not…really” Hwanwoong shrugs, pets at the little shadows here and there before lowering his hand and putting it back in his pocket. “I guess they do come with _me_ , but I don’t really raise them, they’re just _there_ ”

“You like, picked them up?”

“No” Hwanwoong laughs a little bit, pulls at the edge of his too-long sleeves with one hand. “They’ve just, like” he frowns, bites at his lip, scratches at the side of his neck— “always been there. They’re, like, my shadow, I guess”

“Your shadow?” and Dongju makes a hand motion at Seoho—one he understands as _just give me your card so you can pay already—_ so he pulls out his wallet and all but tosses it on top of the counter in very badly hidden excitement (and Dongju hisses, but he’ll apologize to him later, alright, he has other very important matters to look at right now).

“Yeah” and he turns a little bit, as if looking for something—eyebrows furrowed as he searches, ears flopping down and tail stopping its come and go in the air—“Here,” He steps a little to the side, where the light hits him at a different angle, and his shadow projects by Seoho’s legs and on top of the counter. “That’s where they live—or what they… are? I’m not too sure”

And, at first, Seoho doesn’t really… see anything—just sees shadows, like it tends to happen when light hits a solid object, nothing special—

But then, when it’s a second too long of just _intent watching_ , the damn shadow _meows,_ little red eyes popping up here and there, mass of probably _infinite_ shadow kitties all jumping around and at different very small sizes.

It’s as disturbing as it is _enthralling_ —something fascinating to watch, straight out of fantasy even in Seoho’s world of small magic, small creatures—

“That’s all cats?” He looks up at Hwanwoong again, catches him looking at Dongju prepare Seoho’s tea out of the corner of his eye—

“As far as I know” Hwanwoong’s eyes turn back to Seoho, back to his own shadow with a shrug, “They just kind of do their thing” he blinks, front bangs turning silver in a flash and then back to pink. “Why, though?”

“Oh” Seoho smiles, laughs a little awkwardly—gets his card back from on top of the counter before replying, “I always see them at work” and he side-steps Hwanwoong to the side of the bar where Dongju’s placed his bigger-than-ordered-as-usual mug and what looks to be a small muffin Seoho doesn’t remember ordering (because he didn’t even order)—“They always stuck to me here, so I thought they were, like, living in the walls”

“They don’t like walls” Hwanwoong follows after him, stands a little awkwardly next to the chair that has his stuff thrown at the bottom— “If anything, they’d be living in the ovens?" and Seoho laughs, jumps up to sit on the other chair, taps at the wooden surface with a little hum.

“Or the blenders, or the kettles?” Hwanwoong laughs quietly, shadow ears flopping downwards and back up again—“They like electronics, right?”

“Yeah” and Seoho laughs a little bit—Hwanwoong’s shoulders relaxing as he lets himself walk a little closer—“I always have to shake them out of my phone…” and he trails off, a blob of shadow kittens now on his palm as he pets them absent-mindedly—

It’s cute—Seoho smiles, taps at the other chair lightly—“You _can_ sit, you know?” and Hwanwoong blinks, again, shadow ears and tail jumping as he looks up at Seoho. “You were here before me”

“Yeah, but—”

“Dongju probably likes you better, even” Seoho glances at Dongju, smirk on his face growing when Dongju rolls his eyes, bares a _single_ fang at him—

“I doubt that” and he smiles something soft, jumps up to sit and lets the kittens becomes a blob on his lap and hair—“We’ve only really talked today”

“Trust me” and there’s a _very_ quiet growl, another flash of sharp fangs—it really only makes Seoho smile wider. “He really likes you” and Hwanwoong only nods, eyes a little wide, shadow ears flicking to the sides and to the back—all in silence as Seoho sips on his tea, sends Dongju a shit-eating grin while he sulks and goes ring up some child of the mist that wanted coffee.

It’s quiet for a bit—Seoho sips his tea, Hwanwoong sips what seems to be coffee—and then Seoho blinks at nothing, turns back to Hwanwoong.

“You were saying something earlier, right?” he smiles a little sheepishly, lowers his mug and cocks his head to the side. “I interrupted you, sorry”

“Oh” Hwanwoong blinks at nothing, focuses on Seoho with a quiet laugh—“It’s okay, it wasn’t really much, just—” he bites at his lip again, bites at his fingernails a second before stopping—“Wanted to say thanks, that’s all. My neck hurt a lot less than usual yesterday and all? So, like, yeah, wanted to say thank you—and, um, nice to meet you too, even if a little late?”

“Nice to meet you, too” He lets himself smile a little wider, lets his eyes linger on the cute mug with what smells like chocolate and coffee in a sweet mess— “Did you bring your own mug?”

“No?” Hwanwoong taps at it, swishes the coffee around, lets the tips of his fingers run through the little star and cat patterns against dark blue. “Is this one new?”

“I’ve never seen it before” and Seoho trails off, watches as Dongju stops in his tracks after giving a customer their order, face with the lightest of blushes visible under his make-up—

Cute.

“Guess Dongju thought it’d fit y—”

“ _Hyung_ —” Dongju walks over to the counter before Seoho can even _process_ , flat smile on his face as he grabs Seoho’s mug with barely contained emotion—“Your tea.” He blinks, Seoho only smiles, Hwanwoong only _watches_ —“It’s gonna get cold.”

“Touched you’d worry about—”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up.” And he pushes the mug closer and until it bumps against Seoho’s elbow not-too-softly, liquid swishing and almost getting to Seoho’s sleeve.

A second of silence, of Seoho trying his _best_ to not burst out laughing so Dongju doesn’t pour the tea over his head—of Hwanwoong just watching the two of them together with an insurmountable amount of tiny red eyes and cutely swishing tail—

And then _Hwanwoong_ (not Seoho, so Dongju can’t kill him) laughs—something sharp and bubbly as he covers his mouth with the back of his hand—something that morphs into almost a _squeak_ as he curls in on himself, seemingly trying very hard to _not_ lean against the closest person to hide in his fit of laughter, closed eyes all too cute even as he ducks against the table—

And _damn,_ the way Dongju turns from murder mode to simply _gay fool_ is something almost _amazing—_ the way he’s taken off guard enough he forgets to keep hiding his ears, all too fluffy as they just _droop_ on top of his head, fluffy tail to the floor and silver and white fur and hair all puffed up—the way he stops looking at Seoho like he’s going to curse his whole family’s legacy and just looks at Hwanwoong like he’s got the whole _world_ in his stupid laughter—

It’s adorable—is in fact _so_ much so, it’s almost _gross—_

Not only because Dongju’s crushing is simply _adorable_ , but because, the more they talk throughout the early _early_ mornings of the next few days, of the next _week_ , the more he sees that Hwanwoong’s just too stupidly _sweet_ — reserved on his expressions at first but then all too _loud_ as he comes out of his shell, the type to lean on the closest person when he laughs, ears and tail fluffy and _cold_ as he easily clings to Dongju’s arm when they talk, when they’re _free—_

Because the more they talk and the more they get to know each other, the more he sees that Dongju’s little crush doesn’t just stop at _the cute guy I see at work_ , but goes into Dongju making small-talk even when he hates it with a burning passion, goes into Dongju asking Hwanwoong what kind of things he likes just so he can make him a nice drink to help him sleep better—

Because the more they talk and the more they get to know each other, the more he sees that Dongju doesn’t just like the guy _a little_ , but in fact likes him a _lot_ , all too concerned and immediately jumping to offer Hwanwoong the staff room whenever he can— all too concerned and willing to listen to him talk about dance and about music while half asleep— all too concerned and all too _gay_ as he clings to Seoho’s arm after Hwanwoong goes home and _complains_ about _everything_ and about how it’s not _fair_ that Hwanwoong just keeps getting _cuter_ the more he _talks and—_

It’s adorable—it’s _so_ much—and, even if he’s just properly met the guy a week ago, Seoho can see that Hwanwoong’s _just_ a little clingier when he can get close to Dongju, can see that Hwanwoong’s tail tends to gravitate towards Dongju like there’s some sort of _pull_ , can see that Hwanwoong’s maybe just as fucking _gay—_

Seoho decides he’s going to get them to kiss, even if it kills him—that is a promise.

____

What with solo operation _get Dongju and Hwanwoong to kiss_ taking up most of his attention-span and time, and what with time simply _not_ being real (especially not when you live at ungodly hours only and almost never see the light of day out of your own volition) _next Saturday_ arrives a _lot_ quicker than Seoho would have liked it to.

It’s not that he’s _nervous—_ he was just meeting up with Youngjo, who he guessed he _could_ call something like a friend by now, since they’d been chatting a lot for the past week or a little more about one too many things that went from music dreams and singing to Youngjo’s wish to have 10 cats and a dog— but, also, he’s nervous.

Seoho’s not good with people—Seoho’s not good at being _confident_ , not by himself, not with other people, but he’s gonna need to show off his singing and pretend he’s hot shit, and he’s not too sure how he’s gonna manage.

Youngjo’s heard him sing his heart out at work, but the rest of his team is a total mystery—Seoho’s not even sure how formally he’s even supposed to dress or _act—_ Seoho’s not sure what the proper way to introduce himself would be, if not _Youngjo-hyung picked me up from the street like a stray cat_ paired with a _please be nice to me I’m small and I don’t have a lot of money so you can imagine the amount of stress I’m under—_ either of which is entirely _not_ professional, hence not fitting for a work environment.

What with time simply not being real, it is now maybe 6am on the agreed-on Saturday, and Seoho’s been sitting at the café bar with the _same_ cup of tea for the last hour and a half—

He’s not nervous, _no_ , he’s just tapping his leg on the poor chair mercilessly, and he’s just asked Dongju to heat his tea back up maybe five times in the last 30 minutes, but he’s _not_ nervous.

He’s not nervous, absolutely _not—_

“You’re gonna break the chair” Seoho blinks at Dongju’s voice—pulls himself out of his definitely-not-nerves, watches as Dongju drags himself a little stool to sit across from Seoho. “Stop”

Seoho stops, lets his legs dangle to the floor, picks up his mug to drink at his tea—

“Hyung,” but Dongju stops him, amused smile on his lips, hand warm on Seoho’s own—“It’s empty”

Seoho might be nervous.

“Why is it empty?” He sounds a _little_ high-pitched, a little like he’s dying, and Dongju sighs.

“You finished it” a pause—Dongju pulls the mug back, away from Seoho’s hold, tilts his head to the side slightly— “Are you okay?”

“Yes” Seoho smiles—laughs a little too sudden, too awkward—then sighs, “Or no, I guess”

“You guess?” Dongju spares a glance at the staff door, the front door—looks back at Seoho.

“I’m meeting up with someone” and Seoho pretends he does _not_ see the way a cute smile makes it’s way to Dongju’s lips—pretends he doesn’t notice the way his eyes widen and brighten up, all too excited and _maybe_ too ready for mischief—“It’s not a date, mind you, just—”

“Just?” and Dongju just sounds like he doesn’t _believe him_ , all too amused and interested, eyes swimming in shades of red and orange as they capture Seoho’s own.

“I told you, remember? Like, about that guy that showed up at the shop like, asking me if I wanted to collaborate in a song or something—”

“You did not?” A little offended, hand in front of his chest and pretty make-up a little distracting—“When did that happen?”

“Oh” Seoho laughs, blinks at nothing, comes back to himself—“I thought—I guess I forgot?”

“I’m hurt”

“Last Tuesday”

“I’m even _more_ hurt?” and Dongju’s _pouting,_ looking absolutely _devastated_ as he flops on top of the wooden bar all too dramatically—“I thought we were friends”

“We are” Seoho pushes him back by the forehead—is careful not to mess up Dongju’s hair even so—“Don’t be dramatic, Dongju” and Seoho’s laughing a little, nerves and tension leaving him like a current and to the floor, little jolts of electricity soft where his skin touches Dongju’s—

Dongju huffs, leans into Seoho’s touch with a little _murr_ and eyes closed—“I give you free food and _yet—”_

“I’m telling you now” another laugh— something softer, more _relaxed_ — “I thought I wasn’t gonna be nervous, but, like—” Seoho shrugs, Dongju lets his eyes open—all too pretty and wide as he lets Seoho pat at his cheek, scratch behind his (human) ears— “Don’t know, he said he liked my voice but, like, what if it doesn’t work out? Or, like, what if his _team_ doesn’t like my voice? And they’re really good, and this is silly because it’s just—it’s not like it’s not already _good_ that it’s happened at all, but—”

“Singing means a lot to you” Dongju’s smile is soft, _caring—_ “You don’t want to mess up, right?”

And Seoho breathes in sharply—breathes out something a little shaky—lets tension drip _drip_ out of his body and melt away in Dongju’s warmth.

“I don’t” Dongju hums, fluffy fox ears suddenly on top of his head tickling at Seoho’s hand, at his arm up past the end of his sleeves— “And he’s cute, I guess”

Dongju _snorts—_ latches on to nibble on Seoho’s hand softly while Seoho laughs, pretends he’s trying to pry his hand away from Dongju’s _oh so vicious_ hold—

“You’ll be fine” after a bit of silence, Dongju resting his head on his arms on top of the wood, Seoho running a hand through his hair in turning _turning_ thoughts— “Your voice is good, and you’re hot” another little bite, this time to Seoho’s wrist, and Seoho only laughs—a little awkward, a little taken aback— “Even with your _stupid_ hair colours”

“Don’t be mean” he pokes at one of Dongju’s fangs, squishes at his cheek—“My hair’s the best part about me”

Dongju rolls his eyes, leans into Seoho’s touch with a smile— “Whatever you say, hyung”

____

Seoho might _still_ be nervous as he waits, but, at the very least, broken routine means that he can see new things where he couldn’t before, can see new details in what had seemed a little bland thus far, and he finds himself enjoying it immensely.

See, usually, he leaves the café by 7am— when people finally start arriving and Dongju _actually_ looks like he has a time-consuming job— and, so, he never sees Dongju work all that much, never sees customers that come and go outside the few creatures of the night here and there, never sees regular fucking _people_ that drink maybe 10 shots of espresso when they shouldn’t, and never sees Dongju’s co-worker because the guy arrives at 8am.

Nerves are still eating at the back of his mind, are still making him think and think and _think_ to the point it’s _exhausting_ , but people watching is a good distraction, is _fun_ —it’s fun to see Dongju’s customer service smile twitch when someone asks for _way_ too many specifics in their morning drink, when someone complains about the price of breakfast, when Keonhee (aforementioned co-worker) has to pry Dongju away from the register so he doesn’t lose his job because he tried to kill someone—

It’s fun— Seoho finds that he can kill a lot of time like this, wonders why the _hell_ he even decided he’d leave the café at 7am sharp every day, when he could have been having _this_ much fun every morning instead of rotting away at home while Changyoon tried to sleep.

Dongju’s seconds away from ripping off some poor idiot’s throat when the staff room door opens— all too slowly, quietly— and then all his rage subdues, turns into _lovesickness_ at the sight of Hwanwoong’s sleepy face, bag slung over his shoulder as he fixes his glasses and stifles a yawn, shadow kittens asleep on his hair and clothes.

It’s _adorable_ —both Hwanwoong’s whole _appearance_ (now silver and blue hair disheveled and glasses a little dirty, shadow ears and tail gone to sunlight, smokey gray eyes shrouded in _sleep_ and every movement a little too slow—) and the way Dongju just _melts_ in gay, breathes out a sigh and gives the poor customer his order without any threats—

It’s absolutely _gross_ — Seoho loves it.

Hwanwoong passes next to Dongju with a sleepy smile, a quiet _thank you_ that seems to give Dongju all the energy he needs for customer service in the early morning (has him smiling as he taps at the counter, tension in his whole body melting away—hell, Seoho’s pretty sure that if Dongju’s tail was visible it’d be fucking _wagging_ ) then heads to the main area of the café without a particular direction—

And then he spots Seoho (probably because maybe _half_ of the shadow kittens wake up and start _meowing_ in Seoho’s direction, who knows), changes his path of collision with the wall to walk towards him instead, still looking like a sleepy mess.

“Good morning?” Seoho gives him a smile, an awkward and small wave—Hwanwoong returns it with a quiet _morning_ , a yawn— “I thought you’d gone home already?” because, according to Dongju’s _careful_ gay observations, Hwanwoong tended to leave at about 8am on Saturdays, but it’s already almost 10am, so this is _also_ outside of routine—

“No” Hwanwoong gives a shake of his head, stops to stare at nothing—“I would’ve, but” and he grabs the free chair next to Seoho’s, cocks his head to the side in silent question—Seoho only nods, and Hwanwoong pulls the chair back, sits down— “Remember the friend— the guy I told you I do music stuff with?”

“Yeah” Seoho nods, leans back on his chair a little more to give Hwanwoong space to throw himself over the table.

“He wants to meet up at like, ten” he pouts, reaches for Seoho’s drink—steals a little sip and sticks his tongue out together with a disgusted noise at the lack of sugar— “Gotta wait”

“At ten?” Hwanwoong looks up at him, nods, then turns back to stare at Seoho’s drink still in his hands—

Music, 10am, a friend, Dongju’s café—

A little gear in Seoho’s head turns—he cocks his head to the side, squints—

There’s _no way_ , right? Maybe it’s just a coincidence, and Hwanwoong’s meeting someone else that does music but is _completely_ unrelated in this same café and at the same time

There is absolutely _no_ way the world is that small, _right?_

There’s _no way_ Dongju’s fucking _crush_ , the origin of the menacing shadow cats that take over everything in Seoho’s workplace and the one currently sipping on Seoho’s unsweetened tea is _also_ Youngjo’s music partner—there’s just _no way_ the world is making operation _get Dongju and Hwanwoong to kiss_ this easy,

right?

Hwanwoong takes another sip, seems to be about to _complain_ about Seoho’s low sugar intake (to which Seoho would retort that his sugar intake is just _fine,_ it’s _Hwanwoong_ that’s a problem, he drinks _way_ too much sugar at all times, _god—)_ when he stops, lets his eyes open a little wider, stares at Seoho almost _suspiciously—_

Seoho smiles—Hwanwoong cocks his head to the opposite side, eyes half-closed in a mirrored _squint—_

“What” Hwanwoong tries, takes another _suffering_ sip of Seoho’s drink, keeps squinting from behind his glasses. “Why’re you smiling”

“Can’t a man smile freely?” With what’s almost a little giggle—it makes Hwanwoong pick himself up a little bit, lean back so he’s less _dying_ _on the table_ and more _sitting up straight_.

“I don’t trust you” Seoho gasps quietly, _dramatically_ , brings a hand in front of his chest—

And then he drops it, gives a little shrug, leans forward to rest a little more on the table before he asks, “Is it Youngjo-hyung?”

Hwanwoong blinks, stares, blinks again, eyes wide open and hands gripping at the edge of the table—“How do _you—_ ”

“You know how I’m like, almost never here until this time either?” Seoho taps on the table, legs bouncing under the table and making everything _shake_. Hwanwoong nods, holds Seoho’s cup in both hands, frowns—“Guess why I’m here” with a smile, one of his legs freezing as he looks at Hwanwoong in almost _expectation—_

Hwanwoong only blinks _again,_ squeezes the cup between his hands as his frown deepens—“What?”

“Guess” Seoho pouts, playful, half-heartedly reaches out to try and get his cup back from Hwanwoong’s death grip—

Hwanwoong doesn’t reply, doesn’t let Seoho take his cup back, either—he only seems to _think,_ all too slowly as he tends to be when just awoken, chin resting on top of the cup as he looks at _nothing—_

It takes a few seconds but, eventually, Hwanwoong lifts his face, takes another half-hearted sip of the tea.

“You are… meeting up with Youngjo-hyung, too?” Still frowning, still confused—Seoho only smiles back, too brightly and maybe a little obnoxious, gives a little clap as he takes his cup back.

“You get a point!” Seoho nods, downs whatever’s left of his drink—

“Oh,” Hwanwoong taps at the table, takes a second, two— “ _Nice_ ”

Seoho quirks an eyebrow up, drops his cup on the table—“Nice?”

“I’d been worrying about the new guy seeing me, like, fall asleep everywhere” Hwanwoong smiles, something a _cocky_ , self-assured for some reason—“But you already have, so” he jumps on his seat, sways a little from side to side—“Nice”

“You’re a man of deep worries,” a snort—Hwanwoong laughs, leans forward with arms outstretched and over the table and eyes looking up at Seoho’s.

“First impressions are important” and there are maybe five little cats standing by his hairline, kneading mindlessly as Hwanwoong smiles—

“Mine was seeing you sleep on a table?” and Hwanwoong rolls his eyes, huffs.

“Not for work” he pushes himself up, stretches his arms and back with a little noise, a yawn.

“It’s for work now” Seoho smiles, eyes on Hwanwoong’s—Hwanwoong throws him a little glare, hits at Seoho’s front.

“It wasn’t _then_ —plus, we’re already friends” and then he pauses, stares at his hand, at Seoho’s jacket, hair— “We’re friends, right?”

And it’s a second of… _fear_ —of Hwanwoong’s heart too much to the world—of wide eyes as he seems to prepare apologies and words words _words—_

“Of course we are” Seoho flicks at Hwanwoong’s hand, pokes at a kitten that had started to hiss at him—protective, but not too menacing— and smiles. “Why would we _not_ be?”

“Dunno” Hwanwoong pouts, takes the not-too-menacing shadow kitten in his hands, “I never asked, so”

“We are, silly” And Seoho’s shoulders feel tense, throat too dry and thoughts too _fast_ — “Or I wouldn’t have carried you all the way to the staff room yesterday”

“I guess” a grumble—Hwanwoong’s shoulders dropping before a small smile crawls to his lips, eyes a little too soft as he looks down at the table. “Nice”

And it’s… strange—and Seoho needs some _time_ to process it, process emotions, process _friendship—_

Because he had been doubting it a little, too—too used to his routine, to the same people, to the same friends, to nothing and no one _new—_ and he was a little scared, fearful— scared of opening up, of not doing enough, scared of talking and of not talking at all, scared of opening himself and of the walls in his heart—

But Hwanwoong was scared, too—even if he seemed all too loud, too shameless—even if he seemed confident, ready to take the world up in his pace, ready to take the world by storm—

It’s reassuring—human in its nature, human in doubts, in understanding—

“World’s small though, huh” Hwanwoong lets it out in a whisper, now leaning back on his chair, smile on his face as he lets shadow kittens become a blob of _black_ on his lap— “Did he really break into your workplace to scout you?” a quirk of an eyebrow, honest wonder in wide gray eyes—Seoho smiles.

“Not sure if _broke in_ , but” he shrugs, taps at his empty cup on the table, “he _did_ just show up at like 4am, didn’t even let me finish cleaning to close up” he gives a playful frown, Hwanwoong laughs.

“That sounds like him” a snort, a couple of kittens climbing up his shirt, neck— “He’s an idiot”

“So mean” but he still laughs—and then Hwanwoong rolls his eyes, leans forward and over the table again—

And there’s clouds over clear skies, suddenly, and there are shadows on the window, the walls, _Hwanwoong—_

And for a second, his tail shows up—a cute little curl behind him, question mark of amusement as he grins up at Seoho, ears twitching to the sides, twitching towards Dongju’s voice—

And then the moment is gone, and there’s footsteps coming their way, and it’s 10am on Saturday, and Youngjo’s standing next to their table with a puzzled little smile—

It’s cute.

“Hey” Seoho gives a half wave, a smile—

“Hey” Youngjo waves back, cocks his head to the side slightly with a half-smile of confusion. “I didn’t know you two knew each other?”

“World’s small, huh?” Seoho taps at the table, sends a little jolt of electricity that makes Hwanwoong whine before getting up from the table to lean back on his chair instead. “Woongie comes sleep on the tables here a lot—”

“I do not” petulant—together with a kick under the table, one Seoho avoids before kicking back—

“You do” Flat, unamused—and then Seoho breaks into a smile again. “And I come here after work a lot, so”

“Place does seem cozy” Youngjo nods, swimming red and purple of his eyes wide and pretty—“And I don’t find that hard to believe—Hwanwoong sleeping on the tables, I mean” a little laugh—Hwanwoong huffs, pushes himself up slightly to whack at Youngjo’s side—

“Shut up” And Seoho snorts, kicks at Hwanwoong under the table again—sends him off balance enough he has to jump, hold onto the table with a _yelp_ as he tries to not fall— “Hyung—”

“Oops” Seoho laughs— not sorry, not regretful— and Hwanwoong’s about to jump at his throat over the table and make a _mess_ when Youngjo grabs him by the arm, smile sweet and voice even sweeter—

“We need you _both_ in one piece” Hwanwoong only half-growls, human but still cutely pointy fangs bared at Seoho in a show of absolutely _no_ intimidation, as Youngjo keeps him in place. “Don’t think Geonhak will appreciate having to pick us up from the hospital”

“Oh” Hwanwoong blinks, stops glaring at Seoho to look up at Youngjo instead, “Geonhak-hyung’s coming?”

“Yeah” Youngjo lets go, turns to look at Seoho at the same time his shadow curls behind him, ruffles at Hwanwoong’s hair—“Thought it’d be easier with everyone there” and he pushes his own bangs back, dark purple falling soft on his skin as he looks away with an almost _shy_ smile—

“Your team’s just two people?” Seoho asks as he stands up, fixes the collar of his shirt slightly. Hwanwoong nods, Youngjo smiles, sheepish—

“We’re not a big team” and he shrugs, puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket “I hope you don’t mind?”

“Dude,” Seoho watches a little cat climb to the top of Hwanwoong’s head, fix small red eyes on Seoho’s own— “Why would I?” and a crooked smile, eyes finding Youngjo’s, “You, like, showed up out of nowhere to invite me—I wasn’t really expecting anything” a shrug, a step forward, “Even just one person would be alright, really” he picks up his cup on the way, walks past Youngjo and to the closest trashcan—makes sure to be facing away from him when he speaks the next part, “I’m really touched already, and you guys are good too, it’s really like a dream” and he trails off, voice dying into a whisper—

He’s not sure if he _wants_ to be heard of not, but, when Youngjo walks up behind him to pat at his back—carefully, kindly—and tells him he’s _happy he found Seoho_ in the most honest and beautiful tone Seoho has ever heard, he finds that he doesn’t really mind—

Youngjo’s just honest—he’s not laughing, he’s not judging—and Hwanwoong’s a little shadow that clings to Seoho’s arm with a huff, a whine about Youngjo being too _cheesy,_ too much—

And it’s all just… Nice.

Even if they heard him, if they’re trying to cheer him up—Seoho finds that, this time, he doesn’t mind being a little vulnerable.

____

The walk to the studio Youngjo rents is _comfortable_ and—in-between laughter and Hwanwoong’s _insistence_ that Seoho carry him because he’s a tired little man— they make it in the blink of an eye, Youngjo pulling his keys out right about when the conversation switches from _how did you guys meet?_ to _What do you_ mean _you’re smitten by the barista at Dongju’s café?—_

(“He looked like he was going to _throw the coffee on you_ ” Hwanwoong speaks from his spot on Seoho’s back, arms secure around Seoho’s neck and chin a little painful to Seoho’s shoulder. Youngjo only smiles, turns his keychains in hand with a shrug.

“He was cute, though” A little sigh, a roll of his shoulders before he goes to the door. “It was the endearing”

“You’re into that?” Seoho cocks an eyebrow—and Youngjo only looks back at him over his shoulder with a little smirk, a cock of an eyebrow of his own—

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” and Hwanwoong _whines_ , all too loud _shut the_ fuck _up, hyung, my god_ painful in Seoho’s ears as they walk inside—)

And then it’s simple, long and semi-formal introduction—introduction to what they do, how they work—who does what and where and _how_ —

He learns that the one with the higher voice is, in fact, Hwanwoong—that Hwanwoong also works as the small team’s manager, whenever he isn’t dying with whatever it was the production house he works at wanted him to do, that is—that Hwanwoong met Youngjo at some idol company they both ended up working at—that Hwanwoong’s also a dancer, one that’s been in some of Youngjo’s videos, but always with his face covered, unseen—

He learns, too, that Youngjo’s the middle tone (that much he could tell), but that he tends to focus on just rap and composing—learns that Youngjo’s not all too confident on his singing—that Youngjo’s god his heart in music and dreams, even if he works a regular office job that hurts down to the _bone—_

And, finally, he learns about Geonhak— he’s not there yet, though, so it’s Youngjo who talks—all starry-eyed and loving enough it makes Hwanwoong _gag—_ he learns that Geonhak is the lowest voice, the one that gets down to Seoho’s _soul_ , smooth and easily lost and yet all too beautiful— learns that Geonhak helps with the lyrics and with making sure Hwanwoong doesn’t _die_ falling asleep on the street—that he’s a little shy, a little intimidating at first, but he works with children during the week and is the only one here that is _, well,_ fully human.

“Why isn’t he here yet though?” Once it’s all _formally_ done, when they’re all just sitting around the studio—Seoho properly on the small couch at the back, Hwanwoong’s legs draped over his lap, and Youngjo sitting at a comfortable looking chair by the console—Seoho asks, curiosity piqued at the lack of _face_ for the last remaining regular member.

“Community service, I think?” Hwanwoong shrugs, turns his phone face-down over his chest—Seoho squints. “He helps out around his neighbourhood—usually, like, with kids?”

“He helps with workshops” Youngjo nods, smiles a little too soft, almost _proud—_ “Usually he can’t come by on Saturdays, today’s special”

“To your dismay” Hwanwoong lifts a leg up, kicks at Seoho slightly before he turns a little on his side to face the backrest of the couch—“And mine, actually” a snort. Youngjo laughs, gives a light-hearted eyeroll. “You guys are _gross_ ”

“Gross?” Seoho pokes at Hwanwoong’s ankle peeking out from under his pants—Hwanwoong huffs.

“You’ll see” and he closes his eyes, curls in on himself as much as he can, tail and ears showing up from _nothing_ as a bunch of little kittens make themselves comfortable around Hwanwoong and all over the couch.

“We’re not gross” Youngjo pouts, pushes up from his chair to walk over to the couch, pet at Hwanwoong’s ears so _lightly—_ “You’re just dramatic”

“Am not” Hwanwoong frowns, ears twitching against Youngjo’s touch, tail flicking to the air before it coils around his own leg—

If the conversation keeps going, Seoho doesn’t really process it—tunes out of everything as he simply _stares—_ focuses on the way Hwanwoong’s tail is _just_ a little translucent, looks soft even if made of shadows, even if looking like a soft _soft_ illusion—

Seoho pokes at it—carefully, of course—lets curious fingers run through moonlight-coloured shadows, strangely fluffy and _way_ too cold—eyes following his movement and lips parted—

And Hwanwoong _purrs_ —complaints and _drama_ lost as Youngjo scratches the top of his head, falls to sit on the floor so he can be more comfortable, spoil Hwanwoong better— seems to be almost _kneading_ at the couch as he dozes off, silver and blue hair to his face and legs still falling over Seoho—

“You’d think putting your _head_ on someone’s lap would be more comfortable” Youngjo’s voice—caring, _soft—_ hand moving to simply pat at Hwanwoong’s hair before falling off the couch and to Youngjo’s lap. Seoho lets out a quiet laugh, a little shrug—pokes at Hwanwoong’s legs without much care—

“At least his legs are lighter” and Youngjo hums in agreement, laughs a little—seems to relax as he lets little wings and halo show, eyes switching to look up at Seoho’s, ocean of red and purple and something something that’s so _fond—_

It makes Seoho want to hide—makes him want to run run _run_ back into his routine and away from feelings, from wonders, _from—_

“Why’d he say you’re gross?” he cuts off his own thoughts—throws them away away _away_ and triers to focus on _breathing—_

“Ah,” Youngjo blinks, eyes wide and pretty, before he laughs again—this time a little louder— pale pink dusting his cheeks as he scratches at the couch. “Geonhakkie’s my boyfriend, so” and he shrugs, flattens his palm on soft material, looks away in something like _dread—_

And a _lot_ of things go through Seoho’s mind then— everything turning too fast too _fast_ as it goes from _holy shit he’s also gay?_ to _that doesn’t mean you have a chance, though_ and then rapid fire all the way to crashing on a wall of—

“Weren’t you hitting on _Keonhee_ earlier?” he blurts it out with racing racing _thoughts,_ with doubts about his ability to judge people’s character, with doubts about understanding romance, people, _things, thoughts—_

“It’s—uh” Youngjo’s eyes flicker to the side, to Hwanwoong, come back to the couch, to Seoho’s hands resting against Hwanwoong’s legs—to Seoho’s for just a second before he looks away, bites at his lips with too much Seoho just can’t _read—_ “I know it… might sound weird to you? But do you—do you know about polyamory?”

For all the different things Seoho prides himself on knowing about, polyamory _really_ isn’t in _any_ of his areas of expertise—He knows the vague basics (loving more than one person, being with more than one person), knows enough to not be at _zero_ (know it’s not the bullshit excuse for cheating some people try, know it’s not something lesser, something _wrong_ ), but not enough to really… _understand_ (what it entails, exactly—what it’s like to feel, to love, to _understand_ ).

And he’s stupidly prideful, sometimes, and he _hates_ not knowing in front of others but—with a jolt of electricity that makes Hwanwoong kick at the air and _painfully_ on Seoho’s middle—he shakes his head with a little frown—

“I know _of it_ ” Seoho bites at his lip, legs bouncing enough to make Hwanwoong complain—Youngjo only nods, watches, _waits—_ “But not… enough? I don’t really know enough to say that, like, I know how it works, so, um”

“It’s just—”

“It’s not weird, though” Seoho interrupts, brings out words he almost forgets—taps at the couch and the material of Hwanwoong’s pants, taps at his thoughts to try and get things _out_ —“It’s not weird at all, don’t—don’t say that” and Youngjo _frowns_ , all cute parted lips and wide _wide_ eyes and—

“Oh” and he blinks, halo turning and turning and _turning_ , crooked trajectory as Youngjo just _breathes and—_ “Thank you” and his frowns blooms into a tiny, _tiny_ smile—one that turns and clutches at Seoho’s heart—one that makes Seoho smile, too, as he lets his mouth run and his thoughts all _stop—_

“So” Seoho laughs—light, a little nervous— “You, like, _like_ Keonhee, but also have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah” Youngjo breathes out, loosens his hold on the couch—halo stopping on its turning, wings uncurling from where they seemed to be trying to _hide,_ everything about him swimming _swimming_ in purple and red and _love—_ “Well, not like—it’s not that I _super_ like him, I’ve met him once, but—"

“You’re smitten” Seoho nods, expression a little serious before he breaks into a smile again—“Like a high schooler with a crush on their senior”

Youngjo _laughs,_ all tension melting from his shoulders and face as he rests his hands softly on the couch, face falling against them as if trying to _hide_ , expression cute and laughter so _so_ endearingly _quiet—_ “That’s one way to put it” and he lifts his face up, throws Seoho a smile—a flicker of his halo, his wings— “I think he’s my type”

“Your type” Youngjo nods, Seoho quirks an eyebrow up with a playful grin, “You’re into men that pour hot beverages on you, then?”

“No!” And it… sort of sounds like Youngjo’s trying to _yell_ , but his voice is so fucking _soft_ he just kind of sounds like a squeaking cat. “I’m—He’s just—he’s cute, okay? It’s absolutely _not_ about the hot coffee—”

“Is your boyfriend _also_ the type to throw coffee on you?”

And Youngjo _pauses,_ eyes wide and a startled and _maybe_ dreading look on his face as he locks eyes with Seoho’s— “…No”

“No?”

“…Maybe?” and Youngjo looks away at the same time Seoho _cackles_ , shakes so _badly_ with laughter that Hwanwoong whines again, kicks at Seoho’s side in his sleep— “Only in certain circumstances?” Youngjo’s voice is almost a _squeak_ , a little thing against his held hands that are still on the couch in front of him— “He’s also cute, it’s not about the _coffee_ ” and god he’s _pouting,_ lips pursed and cheeks all too cute as he looks away from Seoho and settles for staring at the wall in defeat.

“I’m sure he’s cute” Seoho rolls his eyes, playful, taps at Hwanwoong’s legs in uneven rhythm—“And, like, good at throwing coffee”

Youngjo _huffs_ , lets his eyes fall closed a second before turning back to Seoho—he catches his eyes with a little frown, a look that’s a little _focused_ and a little nervous—a little focused and a little playful, a hidden spark in red and purple that Seoho can’t really figure _out—_ “Would _you_ throw coffee on me, though?”

“Yes?” and Youngjo’s face turns into a grin—something a little more confident, something a little _more—_

“Guess that’s really part of my type, then” a sigh as Youngjo pushes himself back, looks down at the floor in thoughtful theatrics— “Whatever shall I do” a whisper, a _laugh—_

Seoho short-circuits so _bad_ he accidentally shocks Hwanwoong enough to wake him up—enough to have him _complaining_ and kicking at Seoho half-heartedly, words all too mumbled and _fuzzy_ past the layer of _gay_ that overtakes Seoho’s brain and impossible to even _understand and—_

And then the _glorious_ door to the studio opens—shocks Seoho out of his gay overheating and overthinking— brings Youngjo out of his _stupidly_ cocky stance and grin as he turns towards it with the _loveliest_ smile Seoho has ever fucking seen _and—_

“Uh—” Geonhak, Seoho guesses, just kind of… _stands_ —stays frozen after closing the door, eyes fixed on Youngjo almost like a scared puppy and _definitely_ avoiding even coming _close_ to Seoho—

“He won’t bite” Youngjo smiles—and Seoho’s not sure _which_ of them he’s saying it to because, on one hand, Geonhak very much looks like he fears Seoho will eat him alive if he even _dares_ walk a step closer—but, on the other hand, Geonhak looks…well, _scary?_ He’s definitely _bigger_ that Seoho, even, definitely has a voice that’s down in _hell_ and an expression that _could_ be read as _I will eat you alive—_

But, also, on the third hand that Seoho doesn’t have, Geonhak mainly just looks… _cute._ Cute with a little frown and with wandering eyes—with tense limbs as Youngjo walks towards him—cute with an indecipherable whisper as Youngjo walks into his space, takes his hand to kiss, takes his lips to whisper against—

“Oh my _god_ ” Hwanwoong’s voice breaks Seoho out of his gay little staring—out of his admiring of Geonhak’s bubble gum blue hair and heavily pierced ears— and right back to semi-human functioning— “Can’t you at least say _hi_ before you go all _gay_ ” Hwanwoong’s voice is _whiny_ , legs still very comfortable on top of Seoho as Hwanwoong turns to rest on his back, covers his eyes with crossed arms and _pouts—_ “I just woke up, fucking _hell”_

And Seoho fucking _cackles—_ pushes Hwanwoong off his lap carelessly and despite his complaints—stands up with a grin and hands in his pockets, a current of electricity to the tips of his fingers and to the room—

“Nice to meet you” Seoho cocks his head to the side—feels another current sneak past and out— sees the console start up and shut down, the monitor flickering before going back to sleeping— “Geonhak-ssi?”

“Hi” Geonhak blurts out, hand still held tightly in Youngjo’s and eyes between scared and _apologetic_ and absolutely way too _fucking cute—_ “Sorry—” a pause, a frown—Geonhak’s eyes widening before he takes a step back, seems to try and hide behind Youngjo— “Not— not that—uh—Nice to meet you, too, yeah—”

Jesus fucking _Christ—_ That’s three cute boys that break into Seoho’s life in less than a month and _two_ that are maybe absolutely very much his _type and also they’re dating and also Seoho’s gay and also—_

Youngjo turns with a little laugh—faces Geonhak again and brings a hand up to his face, pushes back blue bangs with a smile, a little kiss to the corner of Geonhak’s lips— “Don’t be so tense” a happy sigh, another kiss—“I missed you—”

Seoho tunes out the rest of the conversation—focuses instead on Hwanwoong’s incessant but quiet complaining, on the way Hwanwoong’s tail curls happily behind him nevertheless, ears twitching here and there as he falls with his head on Seoho’s lap this time, pokes at his face to demand some _attention_ because _the gay idiots are being gross_ and Hwanwoong _absolutely does_ not _want to see that because he’s single and gay and does_ not _want that to be rubbed on his face thank you very much—_

Seoho pokes his face back, stores the very important _single and gay_ information in the useful archives for operation _get Dongju and Hwanwoong to kiss,_ lets himself focus on that, not on Youngjo, not on Geonhak, not on feelings, not on _himself—_

(He tries—he really does—but it’s… _impossible,_ to put it simply.

Seoho’s not someone to be easily smitten, in his humble opinion, but there’s just something about… Youngjo, about _Geonhak—_

There’s something about the way they laugh—something about the way Youngjo approaches Seoho to pull him and Hwanwoong off the couch, the way he smiles when he asks Seoho to _sing—_

The way Youngjo listens to him—the way Geonhak listens, too, quietly, with eyes closed and lips in a thin line—the way they both smile when Seoho’s done, shrugs that he’s not really _that good—_

Something about the way they nod along when Hwanwoong smacks at Seoho’s side with praises and shamelessness—the way Youngjo looks at Seoho like he’s got the stars in his eyes, so open and _loving_ it makes Seoho accidentally jolt out enough electricity to make the lights flicker and the computer restart—the way Geonhak laughs, hidden and quiet against Youngjo’s shoulder—the way Youngjo pets at Geonhak’s hair and tells Seoho about the song they’ve been working on—

There’s… something about Youngjo—something about feelings—something about Geonhak and something about liking—

Seoho’s not easily smitten, no, but this time… he _is—_

But, more than anything, Seoho’s still… _scared—_ Seoho’s scared of not understanding, Seoho’s scared of loving, of _caring, of—_

So Seoho swallows his feelings back—focuses on Hwanwoong, on Dongju, not on Youngjo, not on himself, not on himself, not on his _feelings—_

He’s smitten, but it will pass.

He’s smitten, but no one needs to know.

He’s smitten, but one will ever know—he’s smitten, but maybe tomorrow he won’t be—his heart is not that open, his heart is not that _easy—_

So he shuts the door tightly as he talks about music, forces himself to forget and ignore until he just can’t think anymore.

It’ll pass, after all.)

____

Seoho ends up spending all of Saturday with them—ends up singing until his throat is dry and he needs to stop—ends up planning and talking over and over and _over_ and nonstop, talking about songs and about dreams, talking about Geonhak, about Youngjo, about Hwanwoong, about—

He leaves the studio that day with Geonhak saved in his contacts—with a group chat that Hwanwoong makes sure to _mute_ right on their faces and that Geonhak doesn’t seem to understand how to _talk on—_ with Hwanwoong hanging off his arm as they walk to the bus stop together, Seoho feeling too _soft_ in his heart to even try to push Hwanwoong away—

(“Walk properly” with a little sigh, an amused huff from Seoho’s lips. Hwanwoong only whines in reply—lets his weight fall even _more_ Seoho’s arm, clings to him as he drags his feet over the pavement—

“Don’t wanna” The streetlight turns red, they stop—Seoho lets himself laugh just a little, pets around Hwanwoong’s shadow ears and the sleeping mountain of little kittens—“I have _work_ tomorrow, _god—”_

“On Sunday?” Seoho watches the curl of Hwanwoong’s tail, the way his eyes close—tired and maybe half-asleep— “Damn”

“Damn” Hwanwoong repeats, pulls at Seoho’s arm to walk forward when the streetlight switches to green again— “They’re lucky I can still even _function_ ”

“You could rest on Monday” Hwanwoong snorts, falls against Seoho’s shoulders as they reach the bus stop, wait—

“I have work” he shrugs, almost _kneads_ at Seoho’s sleeve as he rubs his cheek against the material—“And then class”

“Skip?” and Hwanwoong huffs, absolutely _offended_ , shakes his head against Seoho’s warmth—

“No” a frown, a twitch of his ear as the bus approaches, “It’s not like I’d be able to rest, anyway”

“Youngjo-hyung’s right, huh” And Hwanwoong doesn’t hear, so Seoho doesn’t continue, only pulls Hwanwoong forward and onto the bus—

_Workaholic._ )

He leaves the studio with his heart in his sleeve, maybe—gets home late at night to Changyoon’s quiet humming, the sound of the electric kettle boiling, a laptop’s quiet humming, a few shadow kittens spilling from Seoho’s phone and pockets and scuttering into Changyoon’s room—

(“Why are there so _many_?” Changyoon steps out of his room, voice shrill in the middle of the night and hands holding up a blob that might be anywhere from five to like _ten_ shadow kittens—Seoho blinks.

“Huh” Changyoon pushes his hands forward with a noise, a questioning frown, “Guess they like me more now?”

“What have you done” flat, fake drama as Changyoon widens his eyes, places the kitties on top of the Roomba he had bought just last week. “Now we’re infested”

“Not my fault I’m so sexy” and Changyoon only _stares_ —straightens up with the deadest look Seoho has gotten from him all _week_ — “…I might’ve befriended their origin”

Changyoon looks like he’s about to cry.)

And then Saturday turns to Sunday, to Monday—to Hwanwoong texting him at work and whenever he’s free, all too many complaints about filming, about _fucking actors_ and their lack of respect, about this music video Hwanwoong had gotten roped into helping at that weekend, about the dance routine he had been thinking about for his students that week, about about _about,_ all endless chatter that makes Seoho smile—

And Monday turns to Tuesday—to Wednesday and to Thursday—turns to Youngjo texting on the group chat all by himself, to video and phone calls with Geonhak and Youngjo to talk about lyrics and about Hwanwoong— to Friday and another Saturday—to Hwanwoong being too busy to meet up with them, to talking with Youngjo and Geonhak about Dongju, about crushes, about Seoho’s well-hidden and carefully crafted, precious goal _—_

(“You want to, like” Geonhak squints, leans his head to fall on top of Youngjo’s on his shoulder _just_ a little bit, glasses askew and bubble gum hair on his face—“Get them to hook up?”

“Not _just_ hook up” Seoho huffs, rolls his eyes playfully, “We don’t all think with only our dicks, Geonhakkie”

“I do _not—_ ” and Youngjo shuts him up with cute laughter, with his face hiding in Geonhak’s shoulder and his halo turning in amusement on top of his head— “Why’re _you_ laughing— _hyung—“_ and Youngjo’s _snickering—_ all to quiet as he kisses at Geonhak’s cheek with little whispered apologies—all too cute as he pushes away with a hand fixing Geonhak’s glasses, his bangs—

“You’re so easy to rile up when Seoho’s here” lovesick and _dumb_ —Geonhak only whines in reply, looks at Seoho in half a second of vulnerability—looks away and at the _floor_ as Youngjo kisses at his face—“It’s cute”

“Am not” a half-hearted mumble—petulant complaint that Youngjo kisses off his lips—overwhelming affection that has Seoho looking away, getting his phone out to tap at it absent-mindedly, eyes on nothing as his battery percentage goes up, down, up, _down—_

“It means you’re getting along” a little pout, another kiss that Seoho catches out of the corner of his eye— “It’s a good thing, dear” and Geonhak _whines—_ sounds like a particularly noisy kettle as he clings to Youngjo—moves to hide against Youngjo’s neck with muffled complaints that are nothing nothing and all too _cute—_

Seoho looks away again, taps at his phone to open a game—taps at his phone to close a game—taps at his phone to get the battery to 10, to 20, to 70, 69—

“You want them to date” as Youngjo runs a hand to the back of Geonhak’s hair—pets at his nape with playful eyes and a soothing smile. “You were saying?”

“Yeah” Seoho stares at the floor, gaze blank a second—thoughts running, thoughts turning, stopping, _starting—_ “I don’t know about Hwanwoong, but” and his lips feel oddly dry, and his eyes focus on nothing, and his voice is hard to get out, tense, _odd—_ “Dongju really likes him, like, from the café and—” and and _and—_ he clears his throat, turns his phone in his hand—jolts himself awake awake _awake_ until he comes back— “He keeps talking to me about Hwanwoong— like, about how he’s worried and how he’s _so cute_ and how he wants to talk to him _more_ and how if only Hwanwoong would _just date him_ and whatever else” and Seoho frowns, thoughts too gone, too messy, too weird, too weird, _too weird—_ “I think they should kiss”

And _maybe_ he talked a little too fast—because Youngjo looks a little worried, a little _confused—_ but Seoho doesn’t let himself dwell, doesn’t let himself think, turns his phone in his hands and throws it to the air to catch—

“Dongju really likes him, is the point” Seoho nods, places his phone on the table. “But Hwanwoong’s always busy and looking _half-dead,_ so”

“He doesn’t know if to ask him out?” Youngjo tries, eyes still curious, eyes still concerned— Seoho nods, lets himself laugh as he looks at the way Geonhak’s head of fluffy hair lifts up, all dishevelled and very _blue—_

“He likes workaholics?” Geonhak’s voice is honest wondering, hidden teasing—Seoho only snorts, shrugs his shoulders as he shocks at Geonhak’s legs softly—

“Better than liking men that throw coffee on him, I think?” and Geonhak fucking _laughs_ , something hidden against the back of his hand as Youngjo half-yells in complaint, pries himself off the couch to weakly attack Seoho’s legs, ruffle his hair in some kind of oddly affectionate attack—

And Geonhak agrees, and Youngjo complains about them teaming up to throw _him_ under the bus—complains about Geonhak going off to Seoho’s side—complains about Seoho being so _mean_ to him—complains complains _complains_ in a honey-sweet voice and all too softly, too _tender—_

And Seoho doesn’t think about that—and Seoho doesn’t _want_ to think about that—so he brings the conversation back to Hwanwoong, to Dongju, to plans, to the café, to _Keonhee—_

And his feelings are up his throat and to the tip of his tongue—and his feelings are loud and clear and so _so scary—_

And so, Seoho ignores them.)

And that Saturday turns to Sunday, again— and days turn to weeks, and the weeks go by— and April turns to May— and then Seoho’s sitting at Dongju’s café in the early morning again, like usual, like always, legs bouncing under the table as he taps at his drink, watches the way Dongju shoves a cup of warm _something_ in Hwanwoong’s hands—all worried eyes as he practically _begs_ Hwanwoong to just take and _drink the damn thing—_

And then it’s been a month since that first Saturday—a month since Youngjo started showing up _every damn day_ at the café, all too ready to sit by the bar and chat Keonhee up whenever there weren’t customers around, always after his office job, always the mornings of every Saturday—and Seoho’s not _always_ there, because he has work, has an odd schedule, but Seoho’s started to hang out at the café more and until later, which means he’s gotten to talk to Keonhee more, which means he’s gotten to _like_ the guy, which means—

(“Youngjo-hyung’s your friend, right?”

Seoho looks away from his old phone, from his eternal game of snake, and up at Keonhee—cocks his head to the side with a smile. “Yeah?”

“How do you _stand_ him?” And he sounds absolutely _exasperated_ , expression in a deep frown as he pours Seoho what might be his _fifth_ free cup of tea on this beautiful Monday morning. “He’s killing me”

“Ban him from the café” Seoho takes the warm cup in hands, sips at it absent-mindedly. “Or you’ll never be free of him”

“I can’t _ban_ him” Keonhee huffs, pulls a tall stool to plop down on it across from Seoho. “That’s mean”

“He’s annoying, though, so?” and Keonhee lets out an almost _yell_ , something frustrated as he makes the liquid in Seoho’s cup jump up and almost to his _nose—_

“I don’t _dislike_ him” A pout, arms crossed over the table and chin resting against them—pretty purple hair over his eyes as he looks up at Seoho like a sad puppy— “I’d miss him”

“Why’re you complaining, then” Seoho huffs, half-smiling, and Keonhee yells again—buries his face in his arms as he flails his legs against the poor wooden bar like a fish out of water.

“He’s annoying” Keonhee raises his head, face a little too red, a little too cute, and still pouting—“He keeps trying to _hold my hand—”_

“Have you told him to stop?” Seoho leans forward—sends a little shock to Keonhee’s hair, to his hand—Keonhee whines, quiet, a little _shy—_

“I don’t want him to” a huff, a frown, “I hate that I don’t want him to” and his lip quivers ever so slightly, and his eyes dart to the wooden surface and to Seoho’s cup— “It’s so _annoying_ ”)

And then no-longer-solo operation _get Hwanwoong and Dongju to kiss_ turns into half-solo operation _get Keonhee and Youngjo to go on a date while on it—_ half-solo because he can’t _really_ ask Geonhak (he feels awkward, since, well, polyamory and all, Seoho’s _still_ trying to set Geonhak’s boyfriend up with the barista that keeps trying to throw coffee on him) or Youngjo ( _duh)_ for help, but he _can_ get Dongju half on board, while also getting Hwanwoong on board, but he’s not that focused on making sure the two gremlins help him as much as he is on the two gremlins just _kissing—_

And days seem to just _fly—_ between music and work and exhaustion—between getting to know people that fit into his life so _easily—_ friends that fill in routine with little things, with shadow kittens, with magic, with angels, with demons, _with—_

Seoho settles into a new routine—but this one’s less _boring,_ less lacking—it’s nice, it’s _fun—_

And then it’s almost Summer, heat of late May seeping into his bones on a Friday morning.

Seoho heads to the café after work, like usual, oddly free of the hoard of shadow kittens that seemed to have become his constant very numerous companions.

And the café’s open, like usual, everything neat and polished brightly coloured wood— And it’s familiar, usual, _common—_

Except— it’s oddly _empty._

Not void of customers, that wouldn’t be unusual, but void of Hwanwoong—void of _Dongju—_ the whole place void of _anyone_ and _anything_ except for one too many shadow kittens littering the register and up on the ceiling lights.

Seoho blinks at them, squints—If they’re all here, then Hwanwoong _must_ be here, right? He can even spot the oddly coloured shadow-calico that never leaves Hwanwoong’s hair, curled up next to register and staring at Seoho with one bright red eye cracked open.

Weird.

He walks towards the register, hands in his shorts’ pockets and discoloured lilac bangs to his eyes, little jolts of electricity making a few kittens meow and turn to look at him—

He stares at the little shadow-calico, pets its little head with care—“What’s going on?” a mumble, careful, sweet—and the cat only _yawns_ , turns on its little fluffy shadow back with its paws up in a stretch—turns on its side and licks at a paw, tail curling to vaguely point in the direction of the staff room at the back.

Seoho has… a _suspicion_ — nothing bad, nothing _dreadful—_ so he nods at the little cat, pats its head, then walks towards the back with a hum and a smile—

He knocks. Silence.

He knocks again. Silence.

He knocks again, sighs, turns the doorknob with eyes closed—

And his suspicion is right, he finds out once he opens his eyes, because there, in the staff room, is Dongju _very much_ sitting with Hwanwoong on his lap and _very much_ kissing his face.

Seoho blinks—Dongju only gives him a little glare, a huff—a weak snarl with pointy teeth as he pushes Hwanwoong against his neck—

“I never told you to come in” Dongju’s ears stand attentive—all fluffy orange and silver fur—tail curled with Hwanwoong’s in a way that’s as adorable as it is _gross—_ Seoho gives him a snort, a cocked eyebrow— “What?”

“I’m your _customer_?” Seoho tries, voice a _little_ too cheerful, glimpse of dulled sharp teeth in his smile. Hwanwoong laughs, wraps his arms more comfortable around Dongju’s neck, still hiding, almost _purring—_

“Eh” Dongju shrugs, lets his hand run through Hwanwoong’s hair (a pretty, pale pink today) softly—“I guess, but”

“Too busy _smooching?”_ And Dongju throws Seoho a _death glare_ , a little too tense as he holds Hwanwoong closer and almost _hisses—_

“Yes” and it’s Hwanwoong’s sleepy voice this time—hair dishevelled as he moves up from Dongju’s neck with a little yawn—with teary, tired eyes and cheeks a little red—“Can’t you wait?” and he pouts, pulls on the hair around the base of Dongju’s ears—

Seoho rolls his eyes, gives a dismissing hand motion and a half-hearted _alright alright_ before he turns around to leave—

Before he closes the door behind him, though, he whispers a too quiet _congrats_ that Dongju’s twitching ears catch—lips drawn into a smile as he walks towards the café bar and sits comfortably, pulls out his phone to play old-fashioned Tetris while he waits.

(Later, when Dongju’s done getting his fill of Hwanwoong and _finally_ comes out to continue with his _job,_ he approaches Seoho with a nicely made cup of Seoho’s favourite tea and a maybe embarrassed little smile—

“Thanks” as Dongju slides Seoho an extra cookie—Seoho cocks his head to the side, drops his phone on the table.

“What for?”

“Woongie-hyung” Dongju bites at his lip, shrugs— “You helped me, like, talk to him and stuff, so” and he frowns, forcefully shoves the cookie at Seoho again— “Thank you”

“I’m happy for you two” Seoho smiles—easy, soft— takes the cookie and leaves a careful pat to Dongju’s hand—“Hwanwoong’s good for you, I think” and Dongju huffs, but doesn’t pull his hand away—lets Seoho’s warmth wash over him, ears drooping and tail wagging so _softly—_ “And you’re good for him, too” Seoho gives another pat, a light squeeze—“I’m always here for you, yeah?”

And Seoho pretends he doesn’t see the way Dongju’s emotions show—pretends he doesn’t see the way even Dongju’s pointy _teeth_ are visible—even his little horns and fox ears as he blinks back tears and lets out a complaint instead—pretends he doesn’t see the way Dongju’s covering a smile, a thanks—)

And it’s nice, and it fits right into their lives—

And Seoho’s happy—he really is—so he lets Youngjo know—and he tells Youngjo to give his _own_ crush a go, too—

And something in Seoho’s heart _stings_ when he says that—when he walks up to Youngjo in line at the café—walks together with him to talk to Keonhee, insists until Keonhee _whines_ and gives Youngjo his number, cheeks a little red and eyes a mix of frustrated and _elated—_

And something in Seoho’s heart _stings—_ stings when Geonhak goes up to him with nervous eyes and hands in his pockets—when Geonhak sits in front of Seoho and seems to try and make himself seem so… _small—_

_Stings_ when Geonhak tells him that he’s worried—that he loves Youngjo more than _anything_ , and he doesn’t know Keonhee well, and Geonhak’s not as loving as Youngjo, and Geonhak doesn’t _get_ Keonhee, and Geonhak doesn’t know if to _trust and—_

_Stings_ when Seoho ruffles Geonhak’s hair, takes his hands with a smile, a sheepish little thing as he whispers that “It’ll be okay” and “I don’t know Keonhee too well, but I don’t think he’d ever hurt Youngjo, it’s _okay”_

It’s okay, it’ll be _okay—_

Something stings, something doesn’t feel _right—_

But Seoho ignores it, again and again, until it’s summer, until it’s June—

Until Youngjo starts bringing Keonhee to the studio—until Youngjo kisses Keonhee on the cheek as they say goodbye—until Keonhee takes Youngjo’s hand with a complaint and a kiss—

And then Seoho’s not _ignoring—_ not anymore—

And then Seoho’s not ignoring, he’s just—

Seoho’s just _denying._


	2. Chapter 2

Early June for Seoho means two things: First, it’s the start of summer, hence he’s burning; and second, his birthday is rapidly approaching, which means a mid-year crisis as he thinks about turning 25.

Fun times under the blazing Seoul sun, that’s for sure.

Friday finds him sitting at the café at some ungodly hour of the morning, like always, with a _way_ too sugary concoction in hands that Dongju had shoved at him as soon as he stepped in—looking a little too nervous as he _begged_ Seoho to just drink the damn thing, it’s free, and then just tell him if it tastes good because he was _definitely not_ trying to make something for Hwanwoong, absolutely—

(Gay, _gross_ —it’s adorable—so Seoho had taken the drink with a pat to Dongju’s head, a promise that he could get whatever he wanted with a discount later that Dongju had agreed to with cute eyes and fluffed up ears he probably didn’t even realize were showing—

Which just made it _cuter_ —it all makes Seoho want to both cry and _gag_ —makes him feel both like a proud older brother and like his life will never know any peace.)

And it’s maybe 7am now, Seoho halfway through his monster of a drink and Hwanwoong’s morning-zombie self nowhere to be seen (busy with shooting for an MV, if Seoho remembered right, one had managed to snatch a position in as both lighting assistant and backup dancer)—Dongju’s behind the bar, cheek resting on his crossed arms as he seems to doze off, not a single customer in sight, Keonhee not set to come by for at least another hour— and Seoho’s about to sneak to the staff room’s couch to maybe take a nap until Keonhee arrives—

But then the glass door opens, hinges squeaking against early morning humidity, and Geonhak’s head of faded blue hair and black roots steps into the café. He looks a little nervous, a little _lost,_ on his own for once and absolutely out of his element, eyes searching around until they land on Seoho’s.

Seoho taps at his drink, gives Geonhak a wave—Geonhak waves back, mutters a quiet _excuse me_ that Dongju’s ears only silently twitch against, and walks straight towards Seoho.

Seoho only sips at his drink and waits—

It’s not that he’s never been alone with Geonhak, it’s not that he’s never seen the guy _not_ be with Youngjo—he has, has been at the studio and the café with Geonhak multiple times—has seen Geonhak on his own, has talked to Geonhak about feelings and about Youngjo, about Keonhee—talked to him about little insecurities and about not trusting—

It’s not that he’s never been alone with Geonhak, never talked to him, but there’s something that’s just… _odd—_ even when Geonhak had approached him before, too nervous, too tense, and asked Seoho to talk about _feelings_ because he didn’t know who else to talk to—even then, it hadn’t been… _this,_ whatever this is.

Then, it had been at the café, with Dongju and Keonhee serving drinks right out of the corner of their eyes—with Youngjo and Hwanwoong talking about _whatever_ in the table across the room—with everyone and everything there and with things in place even if not—

But _this_ …

Geonhak doesn’t like being out of his element, but he’s at the café in the morning, something he never does, and on his own—he’s definitely out of his element.

Geonhak doesn’t like unnecessary things, unnecessary nerves, _tension—_ but here he is, shoulders tense and face in something like a grimace, cute eyes on Seoho’s for only a second before he looks down, taps at the edge of the table with parted lips—

Geonhak doesn’t like being on his own like this, not when things are tense, not when out of his element—it’s odd.

“What’s up?” With a smile, lips quirked up and eyes crescent moons—Geonhak blinks, frowns, looks up at Seoho again—

“Hey” a pause, Geonhak gripping at the edge of the table _hard—_ “Not much” and another pause, and Geonhak lets go, takes a step back and looks at nothing—“I wanna talk”

“You wanna _what_?” Geonhak only gives a huff—a half-shrug before he ducks his head, still frowning, still _nervous—_

“Talk” Seoho nods, pushes back teasing comments at the tone of Geonhak’s voice—at nerves, tension, _fear—_ “If you can, I guess”

“I can” He pushes his drink aside, reaches out tentatively, lets his hand brush against Geonhak’s—lighting-fast, almost nothing—“I always can, silly”

“Lies” but some of the tension in his shoulders drops—and his frown gets a little softer—and his lips part soundlessly before he shrugs again, lets his eyes close in a blink that’s a second too long— “Can it—can it not be here, though?”

And Seoho’s not sure what it could be—not sure _why_ it feels so weird, when they’ve talked about Geonhak loving Youngjo and Youngjo loving Keonhee before—when they’ve talked about Geonhak’s lack of trust, Geonhak’s _fears_ —but he pushes back teasing, pushes back anything that isn’t a kind and quiet _okay—_

He stands up a little too quickly, taps at the plastic cup Dongju had give him a couple of times before he takes it with him—walks towards the bar to ruffle at Dongju’s ears, tell him that he’s leaving early for once, to wake up and be ready for work—

Dongju only whines, nods and nuzzles against Seoho’s hand before he yawns—waves a little hi and goodbye at Geonhak and Seoho before they leave.

Seoho takes Geonhak over to his house with quick steps—and it’s thankfully close-by enough the awkward silence is less _suffocating,_ less tense—pulls him into his room with a little smile and an apology to Changyoon’s door for being so loud early in the morning—

Changyoon only replies with a muted _it’s okay_ that sounds like he’s half-dead, and Seoho laughs, closes his door and looks at Geonhak stand awkwardly in the middle of his room.

Regrettably, it’s adorable—Seoho sighs, gives Geonhak a soft smile and points at his bed— “You can sit, you know?”

“Oh,” Geonhak blinks, holds his own arms close to himself—seems to try and hide himself, just like last time, all too tense as he tries to seem to _small—_ “Thank you” quiet, weird, _quiet—_

Geonhak sits, and Seoho follows—lets himself drop with his back to the wall, eyes on Geonhak’s back as he sits at the edge of the bed, hands clasped together and hair roots cute against blue—

And it’s silence some seconds, minutes—maybe less, maybe more— before Geonhak makes a noise, something like a grunt, and turns around to face Seoho with one leg up on the bed and eyes on the bedsheets and not quite _there—_

“What is it?” Seoho tries, leans forward just _enough—_ takes Geonhak’s hand in the way he _knows_ brings Geonhak comfort, _security—_

Geonhak breathes out—shaky, _odd—_ tenses his hand under Seoho’s hold, _waits—_

“Geonhakkie—”

“I feel weird” blurted out in a second, too loud, too quiet, too fast, too _gone—_ Seoho decides to only wait, listen, _wait—_ “And I can’t talk to Youngjo-hyung about it—like, I don’t _know_ how to talk to him about it, I don’t really— _God_ , I’m—”

“Is it about Keonhee?” _again—_ but he figures that goes unsaid. Geonhak pauses, holds his breath a second, tenses against the bed and bites at his lip—

“It’s about Keonhee” he nods, gets more comfortable up on the bed, legs crossed and eyes avoiding anything that isn’t’ _down—_ “I’m scared, I guess” and he pauses again—glances up at Seoho’s eyes a second—looks down again with shaky breathing and words words _words—_ “I don’t—I know you told me not to _worry_ —that he’s not going to hurt Youngjo-hyung” and he pauses, swallows, continues—a race against his own breathing, a race against the world— “And I—I know that, I get that, I _just—_ ” and he chokes up—eyes wide as he looks at nothing, turns his head away—focuses on breathing, too quiet, too _frail—_ “I don’t know, I’m scared—scared of—of everything?”

“Youngjo-hyung’s not going to leave you” and Seoho lets go of his hand—and Geonhak brings it up to rub at his face, careless against his glasses and hair—careless as he presses down on his eyes and _breathes—_

“I know that” and he sounds so _small—_ terrified and _so—_ “I know he—I _know_ he loves me, I want to—I _want_ to trust that, and I’ve— _fuck—_ ” and he’s choked up again— Seoho gives him a smile Geonhak can’t see, lets himself move a little closer, lets himself reach for Geonhak’s hand again—pulls off his glasses to leave aside before taking his hand again—

“Have you talked to him about this?” Geonhak breathes in—shoulders shaking the _slightest_ bit before he nods, lets Seoho pry his hands away—

“I have—a lot—I’ve talked to him about this—and, like, feelings and—and things like that— before and this time too and just—” Geonhak huffs out a breath, frustrated—Seoho only keeps holding his hand, waits— “It’s not _that_ ”

“Then what?” and Geonhak makes a _noise—_ frustration, fear, _confusion, something—_ lets his body drop forward _just_ enough—enough for Seoho to sigh, let go of Geonhak’s hand again to pull him into a hug instead— “Geonhakkie, I can’t read your mind on this, you know?”

“So you can in other things?” laced with tears, with _fears—_ fears and feelings as Geonhak lets Seoho pull him closer—lets himself fall against Seoho and into the hug, laughter a little broken chime that stings at Seoho’s heart—

“Obviously” Seoho snorts, playful, light—pulls Geonhak a little closer and lets his breathe—

And it’s silence again—silence and Geonhak’s warmth, breathing, thoughts, _tears—_ Silence and Seoho’s turning thoughts, electricity that slips under the bed, turns his laptop on, off, on again, off again—

“I don’t know why I’m scared” Geonhak’s voice is a whisper—a deep thing that’s almost lost to the lull of traffic aside, the whirring of the air conditioning in the small room— “Youngjo-hyung’s been hurt a lot before” Geonhak does something like a shrug, Seoho pats at his back, his hair—“I don’t want that to happen again” Seoho nods, hums, _waits—_ “He really likes Keonhee”

“He does” light, careful—and Geonhak seems to smile, even through his tears, even through his fears—

“I don’t know how Keonhee feels about—like—about _me_ ” and Geonhak pulls away, sits back up with teary eyes and red to the tip of his nose— sniffles. “I like Keonhee too—not like Youngjo-hyung does, but—” and he stammers, breathes, rubs at his face again with everything too _much—_ “I do like him, I just—”

“You’re afraid of opening up?” Seoho cocks his head to the side, lets his fingers run light _light_ down the side of Geonhak’s face. “It’s okay to make friends, idiot”

“I _know_ —” Seoho shushes him—quiet noise and fingers to Geonhak’s pretty lips—smiles.

“I know it’s scary for you” he drops his hand, Geonhak stops as he tries to follow—jerks his own hand back to his lap. “But you let _me_ in, didn’t you?”

“Yes” avoidant eyes, heart in his tears and up his sleeve— “But it’s _different—”_

“Why?” and he hits at Geonhak’s leg lightly—lets a little buzz of electricity escape, tickle at their senses— “I was a stranger, too, right?”

“You’re _different—_ ” and Geonhak sounds like he’s _whining,_ voice too choked up and knuckles going _white_ as he grips at his own skin— “I’m comfortable with you—you’re just—” and he frowns, lets out a noise of frustration, anger, _something—_ “We fit together _fine—”_

“I’m touched—”

“And you’re so _annoying—_ but it’s fine with you, like—” and he blinks blinks _blinks—_ swallows and breathes out something shaky, something something _something—_ “We’re—it’s, like, the same wavelength, the same—”

“I get you” Seoho lets out a laugh—lets himself cup Geonhak’s face with his hands and smile—“Don’t go overheating on me, I get you” and he laughs, and Geonhak _huffs,_ pushes Seoho away to curl in on himself a little more—

“Then why do you _ask—”_

“Because” and he speaks deliberately slow, sickeningly sweet—a little teasing with hidden care— “It’s still not really different, dumbass”

“It is” and Geonhak uncurls just _enough—_ lets Seoho take his face in his hands again—all with something that’s almost a pout and lost _lost_ eyes—“It’s different”

“It’s only different if you make it different” and _God_ it takes everything in Seoho to not just _kiss Geonhak quiet_ _and_ — “You’re too shielded, you keep making excuses” and Seoho pulls away, rests on his hands on the bed and ignores ignores _ignores his thoughts_ — “Keonhee’s loud and different, but he’s not bad”

“He’s not—”

“And you know this, Geonhak” a little stern, a playful frown before Seoho smiles again— “That’s why you’re scared” and Geonhak just _stares—_ eyes wide like a scared puppy and cheeks and nose red as he just _sniffles and—_ “It’s fine to be scared, though, just don’t let that win,” and he leans forward again, pats at Geonhak’s cheek—throws away his feelings, throws away his thoughts— “Idiot”

And Geonhak just _cries_ again—complains and rambles on until his throat hurts and until Seoho’s head _forgets—_

 _You’re an idiot_ floats around in Seoho’s head until Geonhak leaves at some point of the afternoon, late to his classes and having skipped a few, but Seoho’s not sure if it’s at Geonhak or at himself anymore.

____

After that morning, Geonhak slowly _changes_ —Seoho can feel it, and Youngjo can, too—Geonhak slowly changes towards Keonhee, towards Youngjo—lets Keonhee cuddle up to him whenever Youngjo’s too focused at the studio, lets Keonhee demand for attention and lets him into his heart, slowly but surely—

It’s nice, it’s cute—it stings at Seoho’s heart, but he ignores it, again, just like he always has—

He tries and he _tries—_ tries even when he lets his tea go cold—tries until his head hurts and Dongju’s forcing him to sleep and shut up in the staff room, threatening to spit in his mouth if he refused—

Seoho would rather not deal with sleep-inducing demon saliva in his mouth—or, really, any foreign saliva that _isn’t_ both his crushes’ anywhere near his mouth (a thought he _very easily_ throws into the _trash_ at the back of his mind as he shuts Dongju up with a jolt of electricity)— thank you very much, so he ends up napping in the staff room more often than not.

His birthday passes by in the blur and buzz of gay thoughts and life—passes by with a kiss on the cheek from Youngjo, too sweet and loving for Seoho to take without _whining—_ with Geonhak taking him out for dinner—with Keonhee showing up at the café on Monday with a little box with a stuffed squirrel with a little frog pin that he might’ve gotten custom made—with Hwanwoong staying over at his house on a Tuesday afternoon and evening and cuddling Seoho until he can’t _breathe_ as they talk about Dongju and about falling in love—

(“Why don’t you go cuddle your _boyfriend_ ” Seoho tries, words losing all strength as he adjusts so Hwanwoong can bury his face against Seoho’s neck—Hwanwoong only hums, ears twitching as his tail wraps around Seoho’s leg—

“I always give him cuddles” and Hwanwoong yawns, lets himself nuzzle closer, shadow kitties jumping around on his hair and to Seoho’s limbs—“He can share”

“Why, though?” and Seoho laughs, something awkward, something with fake annoyance—

“Because it was your birthday” and Hwanwoong pushes back, looks up at Seoho with sleepy eyes and a stupid little smile—“And you seem down lately, too, so”

“I’m not down” Seoho frowns, pokes at Hwanwoong’s cheek—Hwanwoong whines, bites at his finger with no strength.

“It’s okay to feel down” Seoho rolls his eyes, pokes at Hwanwoong’s side hard enough to have him yelping in pain, tail flicking and tightening on Seoho’s leg, ears fluffy and _cold_ against Seoho’s skin— “I’m being _nice_ to you, _hey—”_

“I’m fine, Woongie” and Hwanwoong does something like a _meow_ , weak complaint as he buries his face on Seoho’s neck again—“Really”

“I know you’re fine” quiet, soft— Seoho breathes out, controlled, _scared—_ “But Dongju’s worried too, you know” Hwanwoong curls in a little closer, shadow kittens curling against Seoho’s back, playing in his hair, watching, meowing— “You can lean on us, you know that, right?”

“I do” Seoho runs a hand through Hwanwoong’s hair, lets blue and pink strands slip past as they fade to silver, to moonlight colours— “Thank you”

And Hwanwoong only hums, half-asleep, cuddles up closer as he dozes off.)

His birthday passes by with Dongju pulling him into the staff bathroom on early Wednesday morning, promise he made on Saturday about helping Seoho dye his hair as a gift holding true as he sits Seoho down on a chair he’s pulled in, gloves held in his hands as he watches Seoho and himself in the mirror—

(“What colour did you want?” Dongju’s looking at the mirror with interest, eyes half-lidded as he plays with strands of Seoho’s hair—Seoho only shrugs.

“Orange?” Dongju frowns, presses his fingers into Seoho’s scalp—

“That’s my colour” and Seoho laughs—reaches behind him to push Dongju away so he can’t dig his stupidly sharp nails into Seoho’s scalp—

“Yours is darker” Dongju gives an eyeroll, pushes away from Seoho with a shove at the back of his head— “I want it really light”

“Colour thief” a pout even as he slips plastic gloves on, walks back to Seoho with a plastic container with bleach—“We’re gonna match”

“What an honour”)

Passes with Dongju laying with his head on Seoho’s lap as they wait for the dye to settle, Dongju’s hands to Seoho’s shirt, to his face as he mumbles about Seoho needing a change of wardrobe, maybe a piercing or two—

(“Piercing?”

“Yeah” Dongju blinks, ears on top of his head soft _soft_ against Seoho’s hand—“Industrial would look good on you, I think”

“Why suddenly, though?” Seoho smiles, scratches at the top of Dongju’s head with a short laugh. Dongju only shrugs, brings his hand to the side of Seoho’s face, to his ears, back down again—

“Aren’t you looking for more change?” and he’s sitting up slightly, eyes sharp on Seoho’s as he cocks his head to the side, “You’re always dyeing your hair, but I don’t think that’ll be enough now”

Seoho hates how sharp Dongju is, sometimes—hates how the demon can read him like an open book, all worried eyes and soft touches—hates how Dongju doesn’t pry, doesn’t press, only waits and listens and goes _along—_

He hates that Dongju’s such a good friend, good _person—_ hates that he _knows_ Dongju can tell Seoho’s thinking too much, but is keeping quiet for Seoho’s sake—because Seoho’s always been closed off, careful, and Dongju’s always been so perfectly respectful, kind, _sweet—_

Seoho hates how much Dongju _cares—_ because Dongju’s so genuinely sweet, genuinely worried—Dongju’s such a good _person_ (demon, fox, whatever), it makes Seoho feel like he just doesn’t _deserve him_ , sometimes—

“Stop thinking” Dongju smacks at Seoho’s face, frowns—“Let’s go together? I wanna get one too”

“Matching with Hwanwoong?” Seoho cocks an eyebrow, Dongju scoffs—“You guys move _fast_ ”

“It’s _not—”_ Dongju sits up completely, then, ears dusted in cute pink and ears tilted back—“I just want one, is all”

“You said they’re a _pain_ ” Dongju stands up, Seoho follows—“And that you don’t want pain, too” and the alarm on Dongju’s phone goes off—Seoho silences it with a flick of his finger, smiles at Dongju— Dongju scowls.

“Woongie-hyung said it’d fit me” he shrugs, rubs at pretty sparkles on make-up under his eyes—“That’s all”

“Cute”

“I’ll rip your hair out”)

And they end up planning to go together—and piercing Dongju’s ears is a pain, what with the double set that switch around at all times he has going on, so he ends up deciding on simple spider bites on his lip—

And then Hwanwoong complains a _lot—_ sticks to Dongju and kisses him silly for the next week and a half until their piercing appointment is due, all the while whining about how he won’t be able to kiss him for at _least two months_ and Hwanwoong’s going to fucking _die—_

It’s gross, it’s fucking _adorable—_ Seoho never thought he’d get to see Dongju like this, lovesick and stupid as his shadow-cat boyfriend kissed at his face and complained about not getting enough _love—_

He fake-gags into his cup, Youngjo _laughs—_

(“You’re just piercing your ear?” Youngjo cocks his head to the side, smile in place as he looks at Seoho from the other side of the table. Seoho lowers his cup, shrugs nonchalantly—

“Yeah” he purses his lip, scratches at his ear—

“That’s a shame” and Seoho freezes, cocks his eyebrow at Youngjo, lets his thoughts run and run and _run without a—_ “You’d look hot with a lip ring”

Seoho short-circuits—spits his poor iced drink back in the cup as he tries not to fucking _choke—_ “I’d _what—”_

“You’d look hot” and Youngjo’s just _smiling—_ all too calm as he reaches out across the table, brushes his hand against Seoho’s cheek, against his hand, wrist, the corner of his _lips—_ “Though, I guess it’s good you’re not getting one, huh?”

Seoho’s brain feels like it’s _burning_ as he mutters out a quiet _quiet_ “Why?”

“No kissing ban” and his smile turns to something shy, something _lovesick—_ “right?”

Seoho feels like he’s going to _die—)_

Youngjo’s too much—Youngjo’s an arrow straight to Seoho’s heart, all sweet smiles and flirty words—all soft hands to Seoho’s skin, honest love that Seoho can’t take, doesn’t know how to take, doesn’t know how to _process—_

And denial only takes him so far, he _knows—_ knows that Hwanwoong’s right, that Dongju’s right—that he’s trying to keep running, escape, deny, _ignore—_

If he focuses on anything but his feelings, then his feelings might as well not be real—if he doesn’t focus on the fact that he likes Youngjo, likes Geonhak, then it might as well not be _real—_

They don’t like him back, they have each other—They don’t like him back, they have Keonhee, too—they have Keonhee’s cuddles and long limbs wrapped around them—they have each other’s warmth and they have Keonhee’s love and Seoho just _doesn’t fit into the picture—_

(“That’s _dumb_ ” Saturday morning before their appointment, right when Dongju’s shift is about to end, Keonhee still at the main floor with the few customers left— Hwanwoong’s sitting on Dongju’s lap, absolutely _refuses_ to let Dongju leave or _move_ —refuses to let go of Dongju’s lips for even a _second_ when at all possible—

It’s gross, but Seoho finds that he doesn’t mind their PDA all that much, so long as they don’t start _fucking_ right in front of him—He just sits there, on the small couch, hands on his phone as he blurts out insecurities like they’re no one’s business—

“You’re dumb” Hwanwoong continues, finally pries himself away from Dongju’s lap to look at Seoho—lips a little _too_ red and bite mark _so very visible_ on his jaw, another further down his neck, another around his collarbones, _another_ —

God, alright, maybe Seoho _does_ mind the fucking lovebirds, fucking _Christ—_

“Rude” he looks at nothing, pretends he’s playing something on his phone even if all he’s really doing is making the battery go up and down from 69%— Hwanwoong huffs, Dongju only throws Seoho a glare— “I’m not dumb, I’m just right”

“No,” Dongju’s voice—a little hard to take seriously with how _breathless_ he sounds— “you’re really dumb” and he pecks at the side of Hwanwoong’s face, light, cute, before he pushes him away so they can both stand up—“They all really like you, hyung”

“Not like that, Dongju” pointed, cold—Seoho doesn’t want to think about it anymore—Seoho doesn’t know _why_ he even started talking about it in the first place, especially when Keonhee could fucking walk in _any second now—_ “Especially not Keonhee—or Geonhak, or—”

“Keonhee got you a custom made birthday gift”

“He’s just nice”

“Geonhak-hyung took you out for dinner”

“He’s just nice”

“Youngjo-hyung promised to write you a _song_ ”

“He’s just _greasy—_ ” and then Dongju makes a noise, a frustrated almost-yell as he looks at Seoho like he truly just wants to _kill him_ and—

“Why’re you being so _dense—_ ”

And then Keonhee walks into the room, all tired eyes and messy purple hair—and he blinks at them, confused, cute, and frowns—

“Should I go back?”

“No” Seoho’s replies too fast, too nervous, too _something—_ “We’re fine, don’t worry, Keonhee” he smiles—Keonhee smiles back, confused, _concerned—_

“Okay” but he doesn’t pry—always kind, always careful—only walks towards his locker with a little yawn, a roll of his shoulders—“You’re going to the piercing place today, right?” and he turns towards Seoho, all wide eyes and pretty purple—Seoho nods.

Keonhee takes a second, seems to think things over, finally throws Seoho a soft smile, bunny teeth cute cute _too cute—_ “Bet you’ll look nice” and he laughs, pretty, cute—walks towards Seoho with excited eyes and his phone in hand—“Show me a pic when you’re done?”

“Just of me?” And Keonhee only looks at him with wide eyes, with a cute tilt of his head to the side—

“Yes?” and Dongju _snorts_ , pulls Hwanwoong so he falls back on his lap—whispers something that Seoho thinks he’s better off _not knowing_ before he focuses on just kissing Hwanwoong again, gone to their own little world as Seoho looks at Keonhee like a deer in headlights— “I wanna see how it looks on you” and he pouts, pink to his cheeks and red bitten lips—“I’m seeing Dongju at work on Monday, anyway”

 _You’ll see_ me _on Monday too, anyway—_ but he swallows it back, only smiles and nods, promises to send Keonhee a picture as soon as he can—ignores the way Dongju looks at him out of the corner of his eye, the way Hwanwoong whispers something against Dongju’s lips that sounds _too much_ like Seoho’s name—

If Seoho doesn’t think it’s real, then it’s not real—that’s not going to change—

Seoho doesn’t like Youngjo, Seoho doesn’t like Geonhak—Seoho doesn’t find Keonhee cute, and Keonhee doesn’t find Seoho interesting— Seoho doesn’t like Youngjo, and Youngjo doesn’t like him back—Seoho doesn’t like Geonhak, and Geonhak doesn’t like him back—

Seoho has no place between the three of them—Seoho only wants to see them happy—Seoho only wants Geonhak and Keonhee to kiss, finish the triangle, and reach their happy ending—like they deserve, like they _want_ , even at their weird speed—

Seoho has no place, Seoho doesn’t want anything—Seoho doesn’t feel anything, Seoho doesn’t see anything—

Seoho’s fine.

_____

**Youngjo-hyung:**

| 

hey  
  
---|---  
  
| 

Hey!!!!  
  
| 

no fair ☹  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

wh  
  
| 

what cxtimes have I cmmited  
  
| 

to wararant the sad face  
  
**Youngjo-hyung:**

| 

u sent keonhee a pic!!!!  
  
| 

i wanna see too ☹☹☹☹  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

o  
  
| 

yeah heasked earlier ha  
  
| 

haha didnthtink udwant one too  
  
**Youngjo-hyung:**

| 

i wanna see!!!!!!!!  
  
| 

🥰  
  
**Seoho:**

| 

its red rn tho  
  
| 

hold onnnn  
  
**Youngjo-hyung:**

| 

🔥🔥🔥🔥  
  
And Seoho doesn’t fucking _know_ what makes him do it, but—instead of browsing his gallery for the picture he sent Keonhee earlier while waiting for Dongju’s piercing to get done—he stands up and goes to the bathroom to get nicer lighting, pushes back orange bangs, eyes on the mirror to get a nicer angle—

The picture isn’t even of _just_ the piercing—unlike the one he sent Keonhee earlier, hands shaking and breathing a little lost as he tried to figure out _why_ he was even nervous to send a fucking _picture to Keonhee_ in the first place—you can see Seoho’s face, can see the glint of sharp teeth past barely parted lips, can see the little chain Seoho put on for no reason, can see how it dangles from his ear and down to graze at Seoho’s cheekbone—

And, of course, the new piercing—industrial on top of his right ear, metal bar coated in gold against his skin, hair held back from it with a little hairclip—

He stares at the picture for a second, two—three and four and maybe _ten_ , Changyoon coming to knock on the door and ask him if he’s done being _sexy_ because Changyoon just _really_ wants to take a shower, _please—_

And then Seoho just sends it without thinking further— sends it with only _haha_ as caption before he bolts out of the bathroom, complains to Changyoon that _I was not being sexy, hyung, god—_ runs to his room without looking at his phone even _once._

Does he purposefully drain his phone of all battery before throwing himself on his bed and _right_ under the AC, hoping to catch a cold and turn to dirt? Maybe.

(He only checks his phone later, when he’s ignored himself enough he’s forgotten _why_ he even freaked out in the first place and sent his phone to its early grave—cracked the screen more than it already was in his haste, even—

As soon as he turns it back on, leaves the battery at a nice 69%, chat notifications pop up—mostly from Youngjo, some from Keonhee, some from fucking _Geonhak—_

**Youngjo-hyung:**

| 

woah  
  
---|---  
  
| 

it looks so good on you🔥🔥🔥🔥🌹  
  
| 

cant wait to see it in person ah  
  
| 

you really look so good hehe  
  
| 

hot💜💜  
  
| 

sighs  
  
| 

unfair  
  
| 

whyre you so pretty  
  
| 

☹🥰  
  
**Keonhee (dog):**

| 

HEY??  
  
---|---  
  
| 

youngjo-hyung gets a nicer pic than me……………  
  
| 

Devastated  
  
| 

aaaaaa you look so good though  
  
| 

(◕‿‿◕｡)  
  
| 

it suits you so well!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
**Geonhakkie:**

| 

I’m bad at texting but um. Youngjo-hyung told me to call. But your phone is off?  
  
---|---  
  
| 

You look really good, though, that’s all  
  
| 

Sorry for the bother  
  
Seoho can only reply with a barely held together stream of _thank you_ and _sorry Keonhee here have a nicer pic_ accompanied by a pic of himself in _bed—_ can only barely handle replying some teasing sentence that he can’t make sense of into Geonhak’s chat, can only reread Youngjo’s messages with red to the back of his neck and almost making him want to _cry—)_

Seoho’s _fine._

(Something at the back of his mind tells him he _isn’t—_ this isn’t fine—denying can only take him so far—denying can only do so _much—_

Seoho denies his denial and goes to bed.)

____

Monday finds Seoho at the café’s staff room again, hair to his face as he sips on Dongju’s experiment of the day—it’s something stupidly sweet again, because Hwanwoong loves too much sugar on his _anything_ and Dongju is a lovesick _fool_ with too much heart (and sugar) to give— Hwanwoong’s head is resting on Seoho’s shoulder, weight _heavy_ as he goes in and out of sleep, phone to his lap as he scrolls through _whatever_ even if he looks at nothing—

Cute, yes, but it’s _hot_ —sweat sticking clothes to their skin and measly little ceiling fan not enough to fight off the rapidly worsening summer heat, gross humidity making it almost impossible to even _breathe_ —

And his phone’s trapped in his pocket and under Hwanwoong’s weight, so he can’t even _do_ anything to stop his thoughts and feelings from turning into _mush_ —can only settle for distracting himself with staring at the _ceiling_ , letting little sparks that go nowhere dance in his vision, making the lights dim and come back—watching little sparks that go nowhere get chased by the few shadow kittens still awake, turning and jumping around the room in all too much _silence_ —

A cat crashes headfirst into the table, oddly _physical enough_ it has the table moving—forgotten papers flying off the edge, Hwanwoong’s head jumping slightly at the noise— Seoho turns to him, turns as best as he can to face Hwanwoong better, hand to his hair in a soothing motion—

Hwanwoong doesn’t wake up— Seoho sighs, rests back on the barely comfortable couch again, eyes lost to the kitten that’s now standing up again, climbing up the leg of the table, running over papers, wood—

It’s hard not to think like this—

He lets his hand drop, _breathes—_ glances at Hwanwoong from the corner of his eye, smile that’s a little too caring sneaking its way to Seoho’s lips—

Hwanwoong’s got the day free, for once, which means he can sleep—which, in turn, means he _could_ be home right now, except— well— _unfortunately_ , he simply refuses—refuses and sticks to Seoho’s side with all too many sleepy mumbles that all _all_ end in _Dongju_ and a thousand gay little things—because Dongju’s currently at _work,_ of course, and so Dongju can’t give Hwanwoong attention, which means it’s up to _Seoho_ to keep him asleep and not _whining_ like the gay idiot he is—

It’s _gross—_ cavity-inducing sweetness of their relationship making Seoho kind of want to both cry and _sponsor their fucking wedding—_

Fun times, he must say—

He’s interrupted mid-thought when Hwanwoong stirs, just a little bit, hands twitching in his sleep as he tries to nuzzle closer to Seoho’s shoulder—entirely too uncomfortable and entirely too _cute—_

Seoho blinks—breathes out a little sigh before he pulls Hwanwoong softly—helps him fall with his head on Seoho’s lap now, quiet sleepy noise from his lips together with a slurred out _love you_ that makes Seoho kind of want to _cry—_

He brings his hand to the top of Hwanwoong’s head again, absent-mindedly runs it through his hair, through where he knows hidden shadow ears twitch and drop—lets his fingers brush through tangles until Hwanwoong settles, hands twitching and gripping at nothing as he practically _purrs_ against Seoho’s touch—

Hwanwoong’s…cute— _very cute_ , in fact—and, somehow, Seoho finds that it helps him… not think.

Focusing on Hwanwoong helps him not think—be it about his feelings, his crushes, his denials, what he’s ignoring, what he’s not— focusing on how Hwanwoong almost _mewls_ in his sleep, how his face looks ridiculously pretty like this, eyes peacefully shut and lips barely parted—focusing on how Hwanwoong has just, in the blink of an eye, burrowed his way to a spot in Seoho’s heart that Seoho can’t quite find a name for, one that’s all too precious and all too much—

It’s... it’s _odd_ (he’s been thinking that a lot, lately, hasn’t he?)—it’s only been two months, maybe—two months since routine broke and he felt himself breathing, _moving_ again—two months since the shadow kittens started rubbing up against him at work instead of just _watching,_ hidden red eyes in the corner of old gears and in newer circuits— two months since Dongju started smiling more around him, too, two months since Dongju started casually dropping honorifics at all as he let Seoho pat his head at the end of the day— two months since Seoho started singing _more_ , since he started to follow the remnants of old dreams, since he dove back into music and started to think about new lyrics, new _melodies_ —

Two months since he met Youngjo, Geonhak—two months since Youngjo showed up at his workplace with his pretty halo and pretty smile, two months since Geonhak followed suite, all too shy and too cute as he hid behind Youngjo’s frame, nervous shoulders and pretty eyes on Seoho’s own— two months since he started talking more to Keonhee, since he got to listen to his voice, pretty and soothing and a little light in Seoho’s world— It’s been two months—only two—since he tasted _love,_ since he truly felt the _care_ Dongju had been giving him for so long, since he truly opened up just a little more and gave his heart up to—

He cuts his own thoughts off with a shock to _himself,_ electricity to his limbs and falling down his throat—cuts off his thoughts, fears, _musings_ , and goes back to Hwanwoong, to here, to now—cuts of his thoughts with sparks that fly—cuts off his thoughts to focus on _here,_ now—comes back to here, to Hwanwoong, to summer, to smouldering and suffocating _heat—_

Not to his feelings, not to his love, not to his—

He’s at the crossroads between _kick Hwanwoong out to go mope somewhere and then face Dongju’s wrath_ and _melt into a sad little electric popsicle like you deserve, Seoho, you stupid gay bitch_ when the door opens—

And for a split second— so fast it could’ve been nothing— Seoho thinks it might be Dongju, something like sweet _relief_ washing over him at the thought of having someone awake here that can distract him, someone he can bother, can _talk to_ without fearing himself and his feelings and going off the deep end of falling in _love—_

Familiar high-pitched whining drifts in through the door together with footsteps, long limbs and short sleeves sticky with sweat as Keonhee walks in, face drawn into a frown as he closes the door behind him and—

Of _course,_ it isn’t Dongju—Dongju’s working, busy— Dongju’s shift won’t end yet, not for a few hours, not soon, not _now—_

“Oh” Of _course,_ it’s fucking _Keonhee—_ all too bright as he spots Seoho and Hwanwoong on the couch, smile something Seoho just can’t _read_ as he walks to his locker, bag sliding off one shoulder— “I thought you’d gone home already” and he’s looking at Seoho with eyes that scream _so much—_ affection and care and fondness that Seoho doesn’t want to _see—_ “Thought I wouldn’t get to see you” Keonhee pouts, just a little—smiles again as he opens the little metal door, turns away from Seoho to rummage through his things.

“Unfortunately,” Seoho forces his voice out—forces normalcy—forces himself to _just talk,_ function, be _himself—_ pretend he wasn’t just thinking about Keonhee, about the lilt of his voice, the way purple hair sticks to the sides of his face— “I haven’t left”

“Fortunately,” half a whine, half an excited little thing—and then Keonhee fucking _beams_ at Seoho, work shirt and apron held in one arm and bad shoved in the locked he’s just closed— “I’d be sad if you weren’t here”

“Gross” and Keonhee _scoffs_ , looks at Keonhee with a pout and pretty, wide eyes—

“You’re so mean to me” Keonhee turns away as he speaks, fake offense with a dramatic sigh— Seoho laughs, focuses on Hwanwoong’s breathing, on the little shadow cats around him on the couch, the ones still loitering on top of the table and around Keonhee’s wallet, focuses on the shadows that are cold and are _moonlight_ and focuses on anything _but on—_

And at some point Keonhee leaves to get changed, at some point says something about wanting to see Seoho’s piercing, about the pictures all looking _good—_ At some point Keonhee comes back, opens his locker, leaves his dirty clothes folded up inside—At some point Keonhee steps closer, but it’s like Seoho just _blacks out_ and, before he can process and before he can _breathe_ , Keonhee’s now standing in front of him—all too close and with a hand to the side of Seoho’s face— head cocked to the side _oh so cutely,_ question Seoho nods at without thinking leaving his lips—

Seoho can’t move.

“It really _does_ look good on you, though, I’m not lying” too close, too close _too close Keonhee’s too close—_ Keonhee’s too close and his hands are so _cold_ and just a little wet from washing them on the sink— “It suits you” and there’s careful _careful_ touches to Seoho’s ear, careful to not pull on the piercing, feather-light and dancing in almost _amazement_ before Keonhee’s hand falls down _down_ to his neck—“You look good”

And Keonhee’s breath falls on Seoho’s skin, overwhelming sense of touch, overwhelming warmth and too close and _too much and—_ “Thank you” drawn thin, confused, _lost—_

“You’re welcome” a smile, Keonhee’s words _electricity_ on Seoho’s skin— “You always look so cool” a sigh (longing, loving, something, _something—)_ , touch and breathing and _thoughts_ burning iron to skin and to breathing _and_ —

_Oh._

“Ah,” Seoho’s hand comes up and to Keonhee’s—touch to cold skin as Seoho just tries to push _away—_ Keonhee blinks at Seoho, a second of silence, of breathing—

“Fuck” And then he pulls back with a frown, eyes too wide, eyes too _kind_ — “Sorry, too close?”

“It’s fine” _Oh no._ “Can’t help it that I’m just that _magnetic_ ” a forced smile, self-confident—a tilt of an eyebrow and eyes closed—

And Keonhee _snorts—_ breaks into a laugh and rolls his eyes playfully before turning around— “You’re _insufferable_ ” and he’s walking to his wallet, pushing little shadow kittens away from it and his phone with a playful pout—

“You can’t tell me that” Seoho’s breath stutters—he blames it on the heat, blames it on summer— “When you’re dating Youngjo-hyung”

“Shut—” Keonhee’s phone slips form his hands—falls to the table _loudly_ and together with Keonhee’s stammering, cheeks a bright red and eyes wide _wide_ brown and— “Up, oh my _god—”_

“Just saying” he snaps back without thought, everything running, everything _leaving—_ Keonhee only whines again, half-yelled noise that reaches Seoho’s ears but that he doesn’t _process—_ and Keonhee’s still _looking at him_ , eyes wide and cute and there’s something something _something cute something nice something that’s—_

Keonhee waves _bye_ , Seoho waves back with a grin, a playful tease that he can’t remember—and then Keonhee leaves and closes the door, loud dramatic complaints through wood down to Seoho’s _core_ and back out again and—

And Seoho breathes out, eyes unseeing, eyes lost—curls in on himself a little, curls in on himself as much as he _can,_ hand stopping on Hwanwoong’s hair, a little lost, a little _scared—_

The lull of Keonhee’s laughter replays in his head—familiar an easy—the ghost of Keonhee’s warmth and the purple of his hair stick to his skin, to his eyes, to his _thoughts—_

There’s a shock to Hwanwoong’s arm—one that makes him jerk in his sleep, whine against Seoho’s leg and curl in closer _closer and yet not even this is—_

Seoho breathes in again, lets his eyes drop to the door, the floor, his own _shoes._

Like the tick of a haunting analog clock, like the snap into place on the lid of his fears—like the heat of the sun and the sticking of clothes to his skin—

It hits Seoho like a snap, like a _blow—_

 _Fuck—_ and he forces his hand to move, to soothe over Hwanwoong’s hair, to run from the tension and haunting realization that—

_That—_

(Denial can only take him so far, denial and wilful blindness can only shield him so _much—_

And yet he doesn’t let go.)

____

He mulls over his thoughts all _week—_ lets everything turn and bounce off the walls of consciousness as he goes through his routine—as he walks into the café and greets Dongju before dawn—as he catches shadow kittens inside radios and wristwatches and an old and busted tablet—as he sits and sips at his tea, at whatever Dongju gives him—as he looks at himself in the mirror and remembers Youngjo, remembers Keonhee, remembers—

Seoho’s never been much of a romantic—he doesn’t think so, at least—has always kept love and his feelings neatly stored in a little box, carefully tucked it away at the dusty forgotten corners of his mind—

It’s not that Seoho doesn’t _love_ , he does.

He’s not the best at saying things, not the best at showing outright, either—isn’t the type to be touchy or let others hang off him—isn’t the type to readily give hugs and let himself be held— He gives more than he takes, though, always with careful words and quiet support—always looks out for others before it’s himself—

It’s not that Seoho doesn’t love, because Seoho _does—_ Seoho loves, and he loves a _lot—_ he loves his family, his parents, his sister, loves them even if they’re far away, little absence that curls at the depth of his heart— he loves Dongju and the way he slides Seoho an extra treat more often than not, the way he fixes Seoho’s hair for him whenever Seoho walks in looking particularly dishevelled, how Dongju mutters annoyance under his breath even while trying to get Seoho to give him a hug— he hasn’t known him for long, but Seoho can tell he loves Hwanwoong, too, him and his plethora of accompanying shadow cats, all too touchy and melting Seoho’s walls down into _nothing_ despite his best efforts, loud and overworking and open with the taste of words—

And he knows he can love Youngjo, too—can love him for dragging Seoho back to music, for flirting shamelessly and making Seoho’s heart race, for calling Seoho into the studio with late-night texts and his heart spilling from unknown lyrics and melodies to their ears—he knows he can love Youngjo, with his compliments and his _greasiness_ —can love him for the way he holds Seoho’s hand whenever they’re together, too tender, too kind—can love him for his infinite love for the world and _himself,_ for the confident front that’s a blanket for depths full of doubts—can love him for his dreams and the way he laughs, the way he can’t wink—can love him for the way gives love like it’s free, like it’s so _simple—_

And he knows he can love Geonhak, too— can love him for how easy he is to rile up, how he falls into Seoho’s pace and rhythm oh so _easily—_ can love him for the way he hides a heart that’s all too raw, a heart that’s been injured and is learning to love the world—can love him for the way his eyes shine when talking about _sports_ out of all things, how he doesn’t understand technology even if he’s only a year younger than Seoho, how his scary disposition is nothing but a _lie,_ a front of self-protection—can love him for how he smiles, how he loves children and helping them out—can love him for how he laughs, leans on Seoho before jerking back in something like _fear—_

And, _god,_ he knows he can love Keonhee, too— can love him for the way he’s so honest, so _open_ — can love him for the way he _yells_ , whines as he clings to Seoho because there was a noise that was just a little too loud, too _much—_ can love him for his heart, colour so simple, so _open—_ for the way he’s not afraid to cry and laugh until everything hurts, for the way he takes Seoho in with open arms, even when he doesn’t ask for it, how he cares and cares and _cares_ and always make sure to say, to show— for how Youngjo gets on his nerves and for how he complains, all too petty and too cute—can love him for how he leans against Seoho, always far away enough Seoho doesn’t want to run, but close enough he feels _warm—_

Seoho can love them, he _knows_ —knows he can love them like he loves Dongju, like he loves Hwanwoong—but there’s something _else—_

Seoho can love them, Seoho _does_ love them—

But Seoho can’t _say that_ —Seoho can’t say that he loves them, can’t admit and say that he _cares_ —that he loves and he _wants—_

Seoho can’t say that, not because there’s something wrong, but because there’s something _else—_

It’s just that he doesn’t know _what—_

(Or, maybe, he does—he does, sharp on himself even when he doesn’t like to admit it, to see it— but he doesn’t want to _look_ — doesn’t want to dust off the little box, doesn’t want to open up his heart and his feelings, doesn’t want to _want_ and doesn’t want this love—

Not this—he doesn’t feel like he _belongs_ in this—)

And it _haunts him—_ spinning and _spinning_ in thoughts that are out of order—haunts him when Keonhee leans in too close and steals a hug from Seoho before running away, smile on his face and eyes pure _amusement_ —haunts him when Geonhak shows up at Seoho’s workplace early in the morning, hands in his pockets as he shrugged, offered to walk Seoho to work, muttered he had been awake and taking a walk, and then just ended up here—

Haunts him when Youngjo leans back on his chair at the studio, looks at Seoho next to him like he’s got the world in his eyes, his _hands—_ haunts haunts _haunts_ when Youngjo reaches out so _carefully_ , lets his hand fall to Seoho’s shoulder, fingers ghosting by the edge of his shirt sleeve, dancing pretty patterns against skin and summer, all the way to Seoho’s neck—

Haunts him when Seoho finds himself leaning _in—_ when he catches the way there’s something like a _spark_ in Youngjo’s eyes, how his lips part in something that might be surprise before his touch turns a little _firmer—_ haunts him when Seoho _smiles_ , hums along to the beats that merge together from every little coloured track, sound waves from worn out speakers tickling at the corners of his heart, the box that’s still covered in dust, still covered in _fears—_

It haunts him—he knows he can love them, he knows he _does_ love them, he knows that he loves them and he _can_ love them but something isn’t _there—_ Seoho can’t figure out the missing thing, the missing _piece_ , and the puzzle is incomplete, and the gears aren’t turning _right,_ and the system isn’t finished and isn’t _ready—_

Seoho can love them, but what _else?_

The box hidden in his thoughts is still closed, and the key’s right but it just won’t turn, and the pieces are there but they just won’t _fit—_

Thin layers of dust float from cracked surface—smooth to the touch and cold like his heart—thin layers of dust coat him and turn into mist—thin layers of dust against lightning from his fingers and his _breath—_

The box won’t open, the box won’t crack—

Seoho doesn’t know what’s missing, but he doesn’t want to run—but he doesn’t want to know, either—

(Seoho’s afraid, isn’t he?)

____

Turning thoughts turn the world into a blur, and Keonhee’s birthday is on Saturday— Seoho picks out a gift, a _very_ cute crocheted bunny with a _gigantic_ ribbon, puts it in a paper bag he carefully carries to work and to the café—

He drops down at the bar, places the hidden bunny on the table, and _waits—_

Of course, Seoho’s still thinking too much Keonhee shows up at almost 8am for his shift, eyes sleepy and looking all too _cute_ with his purple hair a complete bird’s nest from what Seoho guesses was a rushed awakening—

Keonhee gives him a smile, speeds to the back room without much else, and Seoho—well, Seoho can only _keep waiting,_ hands playing with the paper bag and Dongju staring at him from the corner of his eye with what Seoho’s sure is a shit-eating grin for some _god forsaken reason—_

Hwanwoong, at the very least, is asleep on a table like usual—tablet out in front of him and everything a _mess_ as he desperately tries to pretend he _can_ , in fact, wake himself up—

He can’t.

It’s cute—Seoho finds himself smiling—finds himself a little distracted from haunting musings for the first time today, legs swinging under the chair as he just _waits—_

Eventually, Keonhee comes back outside—hair neatly arranged and looking more _alive,_ usual smile on his face as he basks in the 8am sunlight that melts all of them through the window—

At least Dongju had started turning the AC on lately, thank _god—_

The café’s still a little empty at this time on Saturday, so Seoho takes the chance to bring a smile to his _own_ face, walk over to hand Keonhee his gift and give him a half-hug of birthday greeting.

Keonhee, of course, lovely man that he is, _cries._

(“Oh my _god_ , Keonhee” Seoho’s voice is lilted with laughter, unsure— “You don’t have to _cry_ —”

“I do” Keonhee sniffles, rubs at his eyes with the back of his wrist—sniffles again as he accepts a tissue from Dongju. “I’m really happy, so I just—”

“Dude, it’s your _birthday_ , of course I’d give you a—”

“You gave me a _hug,_ though!” and he’s a little too loud, eyes red as he looks at Seoho dead in the eye and sniffles _again—_ tip of his nose red and lips parted—“That’s special” ending in almost a _mumble,_ Keonhee’s not snot-stained hand grabbing the little bunny and its stupid _bow_ like a lifeline—“Like,” a sniffle, Keonhee rubbing at his nose with the clean sides of the soiled tissue “very special”

“You can hug me anytime, you know?” and a crooked smile, hands to his short pockets and head tilted to the side—Keonhee takes a second—Dongju only _stares_ from behind him, fox ears _back_ and twitching furiously here and there, fluffy end of his tail towards the floor and peeking out of his skirt and work apron—

“I can?” and Keonhee’s wide-eyed and almost _excited_ , tissue to his nose again as he sniffles yet _again_ and reddens his nose further—

“Yeah” Seoho blinks, feels sparks of electricity to his fingers, his hair, fluffing up Dongju’s _tail—_ “You always can”

Seoho doesn’t know what makes him say that, but he does know it’s true.)

____

Early Sunday morning—as in, well, 2am— finds Seoho with his phone in hand and standing right outside a vaguely familiar door, Hwanwoong’s address burning at his retinas through his glasses from his stupidly cracked phone screen—

He had asked Hwanwoong for his address maybe the previous month, a little too worried at the other’s _awful_ life habits and sleeping schedule, and Hwanwoong had sent it to him, but Seoho had only been there _maybe_ twice.

He doesn’t tend to just _show up_ at his friend’s apartments without warning, no, but today’s been… _odd?_ He’s been thinking a lot, thinking about hugging Keonhee, thinking about that little text from Youngjo late last night, just a few hours ago, that perfectly taken picture of Keonhee holding Geonhak’s face and _way too close—_ thinking about Youngjo’s message after the text, too, the _stupid_ _emoji_ present as always in his announcement to Seoho that his two boyfriends were now dating each other too and Youngjo was so happy he could _cry—_

And Seoho had been thinking a lot—about _why_ Youngjo had told him that, and not Keonhee or Geonhak—about why he needed to be told at all, about why it mattered to him so _much—_

He had been thinking—thinking about Youngjo’s texts and the warmth of his hand on Seoho’s—thinking about Geonhak’s tears and fears that spilled from his lips, about the way he had asked Seoho for help just the previous week, all too nervous and _lost_ as he rambled on and on and _on_ until his voice went raw, rambled about the warmth of Keonhee’s smile and nerves boiling up in his gut, rambled on and _on_ about the oddity of it all, about falling so easily, so _simply—_

Thinking about Geonhak’s smile when he let Keonhee sit on his lap, all soft giggles and long limbs a little pointy—about Youngjo’s loving _everything_ as he kissed them both so _much—_

About longing in Seoho’s chest and the lost key to the hidden chest, about the warmth of Hwanwoong’s touch, the softness of his _being—_ about Dongju’s smile and the little place in his heart for him, for Hwanwoong—about how he loves them, about how it’s different, about how it’s odd—

About longing and difference in love— nothing less important, nothing more meaningful—just _different—_

And it’d be scary—different is scary, getting to _love_ is scary—but he isn’t scared of Hwanwoong, he isn’t scared of Dongju—

So, it’s not scary anymore, it’s just so _confusing—_

The way to love is confusing.

A couple of shadow cats walking over his hand tickle—smoky cold to his senses and pulling him out of his thoughts—and he presses send on the typed up message (a simple _hey woongie im outside open up_ ) with a little sigh—

There are voices here and there, the echo of people’s snores and late night footsteps— and then the door opens, Hwanwoong’s roommate looking like he hasn’t slept for a _week_ as he smiles at Seoho as sweetly as he can, all black hair on his face and squishy cheeks.

“Hi” Sungho, if Seoho remembers right from his previous adventuring into the apartment, greets—voice all too dead and eyes all too tired—Seoho gives him a little wave, a smile to try and soothe him, even if just a little bit—“Hwanwoong’s, uh” he pauses, blinks at nothing, holds his phone tighter in his hand with a frown—“Doing stuff”

“Is he fucking” Seoho feels a shadow kitten sneeze under his shirt collar, feels another knead at his hair—Sungho sighs.

“Yes”

“My sympathies” and Sungho sort of snorts—does a little shrug before stepping back, bangs to his face as he lets Seoho in and yawns.

“Thanks” Seoho takes off his shoes, makes sure to leave them out of the way and tidy enough—“He said he’d be right out, though”

Seoho _snorts—_ Sungho only gives another shrug, a roll of his eyes before he smiles, waves goodnight and point towards his room— Seoho waves back, and then Sungho’s kicking at Hwanwoong’s door on his way through the small hallway—

Well, at least this means he can talk to Dongju, too, at the same time as Hwanwoong—two birds with one stone and all that, right?

He just hopes they’re _lucid_ after whatever they were getting up to.

To Hwanwoong’s credit, they really don’t take long to come out—thankfully fully clothed even if Dongju’s hair looks the messiest Seoho has ever seen it in all the years he’s known the guy—

Hell, even his make-up is messed up—

 _Intense—_ he feels a little sorry for interrupting them, it was one of Hwanwoong’s rare free weekends and all, rare night he wasn’t taking on way too much and leaving little time for even _breathing—_

Seoho hopes they can forgive him.

“Before you say anything” Hwanwoong crosses over to the living room, pulls Seoho up and back to his room—“We were _not_ fucking, alright”

“Yeah” Seoho laughs, follows Hwanwoong into the room, throws Dongju a crooked smile on the way—“And I’m straight, Woongie”

Hwanwoong tackles him to the bed—Seoho _really_ hopes they were _not_ fucking there—traps Seoho under his weight with legs to either side of him—

Dongju only _scoffs_ , lets himself drop to sit on the bed right around where Seoho’s head rests, all pretty orange hair a complete mess and ears a little fluffier, shakier, than usual—

God, it’s adorable—and so is Hwanwoong, all too comfortable where he sits on top of Seoho, ears and tails twitching around in curiosity as he looks at Seoho like he’s a mystery to solve—

Seoho smiles at them, brings a hand back to pull the pillow closer and under his head.

“What’s up?” Hwanwoong cocks his head to the side a little—follows the weight and lets himself fall to the bed on his side next to Seoho, arm draped over his chest and _maybe_ a little too close— “It’s, like, 2am, hyung”

“Did you figure out life’s mysteries?” Dongju’s voice is soft, teasing, hand coming up to push Seoho’s bangs back and away from his eyes, fix his glasses so they’re less crooked on his face— “Or are you having a crisis”

“Wanna guess?” Seoho looks up at Dongju with a smile—Dongju hums, pulls his hand away to rest on the bed—Hwanwoong makes a little groan, thinking noises as he nuzzles closer, looks at Seoho with a frown— “Maybe it’s a crisis”

“Did something happen?” Hwanwoong pushes himself up a little, hand resting on Seoho’s chest as he looks down— “Recent? Is this why you’ve been down?”

“Hyung,” and Dongju’s hand comes to Hwanwoong’s forehead—pushes him back down, cheek resting against Seoho’s shoulder. “Let him talk”

Seoho laughs—something short, a little clipped—and Hwanwoong whines, grip tight on Seoho’s chest as his tail wraps around Seoho’s thigh—

“And you” Dongju flicks at Seoho’s forehead—pretty fingers with chipped polish soft on Seoho’s skin—“Talk”

Seoho lets out a groan, fake annoyance, brings his hand up to push Dongju’s away, pat at Hwanwoong’s hair— “Like you just… said, I’ve been down—well, not _down_ , more like just _thinking—_ and it’s a lot more than usual, and about things that, like, I don’t really _tend_ to think about—” he breathes in, lets his fingers tangle in Hwanwoong’s hair and his eyes close— “and, like—man, this is _awkward—”_

“It’s not” Dongju smacks at Seoho’s forehead now, soothes over with his hand, absurdly cold at this time of the night— “What have you been thinking about?”

“Love?” And he breaks into a giggle—sharp and high-pitched—body tense and face feeling _just_ a little warm— “Like, about how I love you two—”

“Ew—” and Seoho can’t help but laugh at Dongju’s face, ears drooping and everything so _dramatic—_ can’t help but laugh at the way Hwanwoong fake gags, complains about Seoho being too fucking _corny_ sometimes— “What the fuck—”

“I’m not done” he huffs, pushes Hwanwoong down so he’s trapped against Seoho’s side again—whining quietly but staying still—reaches for Dongju’s hand for a ghost of a touch— “Like, not just you—I know I do love you two, like, you somehow mean a lot to me, but—”

A breath, Dongju reaches for Seoho’s hand—lets his hand rest over it—

“Romance, you know? It’s different… and like, I was so… much more open to just knowing and accepting loving you two, but—”

“Cheesy, but go on” Hwanwoong’s voice is a mumble—a teasing thing against Seoho’s shoulders—Seoho only pulls at his hair softly with a noise—

“Shush” Dongju laughs, rests back on the wall, lets go of Seoho’s hand to play with his hair instead— “Anyway—thing is, well, with Youngjo-hyung it was just… weird? Like, different, you know? Than with you too, and I guess I was scared of that? But then, it’s not like it’s much _more_ or anything, it’s just different, and I already let _you_ steal my poor heart, but—” and he looks up at Dongju, smile still in place, everything still tense—“He’s dating Geonhak, you know? But then I looked at Geonhak too and it also—it also felt so _odd—_ and then I helped Youngjo-hyung with Keonhee? And just—"

“You’re, like, _in love?”_ Dongju tries, pretty brown on Seoho’s eyes, fluffy tail tickling at his neck.

“Not _in love_ , well, I don’t _know—_ it’s too soon to say I’m in love, but—” Hwanwoong sits up, takes Seoho’s hand in his, lets their held hands fall over his crossed legs— “I thought it’d just go _away_ , you know? Like always, because I just—I just don’t want to think about that, but”

“It didn’t” Dongju’s voice again—soft, _patient—_ Hwanwoong’s voice just a quiet hum as he plays with Seoho’s hand.

“It didn’t” Seoho sighs, looks at the ceiling— “It just got stronger, you know, because they’re cute and all—and then, like, I didn’t even _notice_ , but I guess I like Keonhee a lot too? And it’s—it’s just _new?_ ” he swallows, blinks, squeezes one of Hwanwoong’s hands. “I’ve always just—just _ran_ from things like this—from _romance_ , you know? And I don’t really have experience and then—and then suddenly I like _three people—_ ”

“Were you scared?” Hwanwoong’s voice comes together with shadow kittens rubbing against Seoho’s arm, some more up in his hair—the little shadow-calico sprawled on his chest—

Seoho doubts— _breathes—_ takes a moment to just _give—_

“At first” and his lips feel dry—his throat hurting and his voice _raspy—_ “I was just—denying, you know? And scared and it felt so… I don’t _know—_ ” he laughs, the hand Hwanwoong’s not holding to push his own bangs back, pet at the shadow cats for some _ground—_ “and then I was just confused, too? Because, like, these things—you never _know_ with these things—hell, I didn’t even _get_ polyamory until I met Youngjo-hyung, and now it’s, like—”

Dongju pushes Seoho’s glasses up—covers his eyes with a cold _cold_ hand—Seoho yelps— “Stop running, hyung”

“I’m not running”

“Wanting to know everything is also running” Dongju pulls his hand back, Hwanwoong falls with his head on Seoho’s middle—“You won’t ever know everything”

“I want to understand, though” a little frail, a little _weak—_ Hwanwoong gives him a smile, squeezes his hand before reaching out to poke at Seoho’s face.

“What’s there to understand?” Hwanwoong’s voice is light, careful—

“Everything” Seoho blinks—pulls Dongju’s hand so it’s covering his eyes again—breathes— “There’s _everything_ to understand”

“Do you want to be with them?” Hwanwoong again—still soft, still _so—_

“I do” exhale, inhale—burning tears behind Dongju’s hand— “I guess I do, but—”

“That’s all you need to understand, isn’t it?” Dongju shifts a little, other hand coming up to play with Seoho’s hair again—

“But I can’t just—”

“Won’t you get it better if you, like, _experience_ it? Not everyone feels the same way, you won’t find just _one_ answer, not one that will make sense to you” Hwanwoong pauses, plays with Seoho’s fingers— “you won’t know unless you let yourself _try_ , right? You won’t know if it’ll work if you just _run_ ”

“I’m not _running—_ ”

“You are” and Dongju’s voice is _stern_ , hand pulling away from Seoho’s eyes—Seoho whines, chokes on a noise and brings his free hand up to cover _himself_ — “You’re running with questions” Dongju pulls Seoho’s arm away—Seoho lets him—looks up with burning eyes and excuses that just won’t stop _turning and—_ “Why?”

And Seoho’s brain… _stops—_ and there’s a shock through Hwanwoong’s skin that makes him whine quietly, shadow fur fluffing up and _cute—_ spark of electricity off Dongju’s tail, everything too fluffy where it tickles at Seoho’s skin and makes all his excuses _just_ —

“What if I don’t belong?” and he _chokes—_ voice leaving him too thin and too _scared_ and Seoho hates _hates_ being so frail and hates being so _scared and—_ “I don’t think I belong”

“Why?” and he can feel Hwanwoong’s tail around his arm—can feel Dongju’s cold _everything_ so _close—_ “Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because—” Seoho closes his eyes—takes a second, a moment—breathes until his voices comes back, until he can remember _words—_ “They’re, like, they’re just _fine_ together—all three of them, and—and I don’t think they even _like me,_ not like _that,_ and I just—I know even if they don’t I could tell them and it’d be fine but—but it’s just—”

“You’re not scared of rejection” Dongju pokes at his forehead—Seoho opens his eyes, tears here and there down his cheeks and tickling at his ear—tears here and there making shadow kittens jump— “You know they like you”

“I don’t—”

“Keonhee cried because you hugged him” Hwanwoong huffs, pushes himself to sit up again—scoots closer to Seoho—

“Keonhee _always_ cries—”

“And Youngjo-hyung keeps _flirting_ with you—”

“He’s just _greasy—”_

“And Geonhak-hyung even _texts_ you” Hwanwoong’s voice turns to a whine, a desperate little thing as he holds on tightly _tightly_ to Seoho’s shirt—“Hyung, they like you so _much—”_

“Why?” and Seoho sounds so _small—_ terrified as he holds onto Dongju for _dear life_ and—

“Because they do” Dongju smiles, soft, kind—“There’s a lot to love, hyung, you idiot”

And Seoho can’t even _deny that—_ can’t even tell Dongju that he’s being rude, Seoho’s _not_ an idiot—

Because, well, he _is—_ an idiot that kept and kept running because he didn’t want to believe someone could see beauty in his heart—an idiot that kept and kept running because he was scared of the unknown, of feeling anything at all, of maybe one day falling in _love—_

It’s true he doesn’t understand, but that hasn’t stopped him before—he’s never gotten romance, but he’s always tried—he’s never been a risk-taker, but he’s never been afraid to just _try—_

It’s true he made excuses— too scared to even try and understand, try and _see_ things—try and just—

“You can belong” Hwanwoong leans down closer, nuzzles against Seoho’s cheek with a sad little smile—“So long as you let yourself belong, you know?”

Seoho knows—Seoho lets himself know.

____

**Seoho:**

| 

um  
  
---|---  
  
| 

so like I knwo its liek 5am  
  
| 

and u actually sleep on weekends  
  
| 

sodont worry abt not replying rihgbraway but like  
  
| 

ure free today todayright  
  
| 

do uthink  
  
| 

we could meet up  
  
| 

like. at ur place. or well mine if u want but its kinda small  
  
| 

with  
  
| 

konhee and  
  
| 

geonhakkie  
  
| 

are u guys still tgoether if u are then iguess whayever u are its easier huh  
  
| 

wheheber wakeup  
  
| 

yeah  
  
| 

Theresomsething I wanna like say and  
  
| 

its imrpotant  
  
| 

its not bad!!!!! id just showup butum i don’t know ur adress  
  
| 

and its 5am huh  
  
| 

anywayyeah  
  
Seoho sends the stream of messages and goes to sleep—keeps his phone close and his thoughts and feelings stuck up his throat.

____

**Youngjo-hyung:**

| 

Oh  
  
---|---  
  
| 

hey 😊  
  
| 

we're all at my place if u wanna come over?  
  
| 

Don’t come by too fast though ahaha keonhee’s not up yet  
  
| 

i’ll send my address  
  
| 

take your time  
  
| 

💜  
  
____

10am on that same Sunday finds Seoho in a lame shirt and shorts, phone in his pocket and shadow-calico of moral support sitting carefully inside its circuits, standing in front of Youngjo’s door—

Youngjo had replied at maybe 8am, Seoho had woken up at around 9, had a little gay meltdown where he called Hwanwoong and asking him how romance even _works,_ and then finally left—the way to Youngjo’s wasn’t long, just a short bus ride and a little bit of walking, but it’s enough for Seoho to at least get his thoughts a _little_ together better, feelings threatening to projectile _fly_ out of his body as soon as he sees the other three—

God, Seoho’s a gay _mess—_

He rings the bell next to the door, spends some seconds admiring the worn-out number plaque of the apartment before the door opens—

And Seoho’s breath catches in his throat as soon as it does—as soon as Youngjo’s head of purple and his pretty halo peek out from behind the door—and Seoho’s not really sure _what_ he says, but he makes it to the living room, past Youngjo’s roommate lounging on the couch, and all the way into Youngjo’s room—

And then he’s sitting down on Youngjo’s bed, Geonhak to his right, Keonhee on a desk chair in front of him, Youngjo to his left and looking so ridiculously _fond_ it almost makes Seoho cry—

Almost.

“You wanted to talk?” Youngjo scoots a little closer, brings a tentative hand closer to Seoho’s—Seoho only nods, breathes, lets his hand fall on the bed for Youngjo to _take—_

“Did something happen?” Keonhee, wide-eyed, pretty—Seoho shakes his head, stops, shrugs and takes in a breath—

“I’m not—not good at these things, so, like, can you guys just—just hear me out? And then you can reply when I’m done, just—”

“Of course?” Youngjo squeezes his hand—Geonhak moves a little closer, too— “We’ll wait”

“Alright” and Seoho breathes out, squeezes Youngjo’s hand back—holds onto the material of his shorts so ridiculously _tight—_ “I just—well—how do I say this? I think—I think I really like you guys” a pause—Seoho blinks, frowns, licks at his lips and swallows before he continues—“God, awkward, but—I usually just—I usually just ignore this kind of thing but, like, I just _really_ like you guys—I know I do—and I was so—like, _confused_ , and I don’t know if I was acting weird with _you,_ but even Woongie was worried and—and I talked to him and to Dongju yesterday—well, earlier today? And my head’s been such a _mess,_ I just—I kept thinking about running away or simply… staying in silence, but—”

Geonhak’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, Keonhee’s rests by his knee—and then there’s Youngjo, warm, _safe,_ both hands on one of Seoho’s and eyes so _so loving and—_

“I… don’t _want_ to be an idiot, right? I don’t really—I’ve never _been_ in a polyamorous… thing? Relationship? And I’ve never liked more than one person and I was so, like, _scared,_ and a little avoidant and—and maybe I let too much time pass and I don’t know if you guys still like me, or if you ever did? Especially with me just—just avoiding things and when you, like, went out of your way to—you know, _that_ , and I get flustered, and stupid, and like—yeah, okay, I’m a gay idiot, but like—”

“Hyung” and Keonhee’s a lot _closer,_ touch careful against Seoho, eyebrows drawn into the _tiniest_ frown. “Do…you like us?”

“Yes” a quiet breath—a second of silence—Seoho drops his gaze to the floor, his shoes, the bed sheets—“I don’t know if it’s _love,_ I don’t know it’s what you—you have with _each other_ , but, like—like, you—you and Youngjo-hyung and Geonhakkie _—_ I just, I really like you guys and—”

“And?” Seoho’s breath get stuck—he forces it in and out again, Youngjo’s voice a little soothing melody.

“And I want to be with you, I guess” and there’s something like a sob threatening to spill out his lips and burning _burning down his throat and—_ “I don’t know if I _belong_ , but—”

Seoho tenses up—feels little sparks and feels the little cat purring happily somewhere in his hair, feels thoughts that run and run without an end or goal _and_ —

“But I want to kiss you—and be with you—be part of, like, _this—_ I really—I just want to be with you, and—” he blinks, holds himself close, _breathes, whispers—_ “If that’s okay?”

“Why wouldn’t you belong?” and it’s Youngjo’s voice, but Geonhak’s _hand_ is the one that’s on his face—touch something so _delicate_ Seoho thinks he might as well be _breakable—_ “You’re so beautiful, so _lovely_ , Seoho” and Youngjo’s hand is still holding Seoho’s, thumb to the back of it so soothing, _kind—_ and Geonhak’s so fucking _close and oh my God Keonhee’s crying isn’t he—_

“Is it okay?” Low _low_ whisper, Geonhak’s voice so close, so _warm—_ Seoho lets out a laugh, a bubbling thing that takes over his thought and his senses as he nods and—

And then Youngjo laughs, pushes Seoho closer to Geonhak so softly—stands up to take Keonhee’s hands—murmurs something about Seoho being _cute_ and then Seoho just doesn’t process anything else because Geonhak’s hand is _burning_ on his face and—

And they’re kissing—something so _shy,_ a quick brush of lips before Geonhak pulls away, drops his hand by his thighs and looks at Seoho with his face bright _red—_

And Seoho smiles—something happy before it turns playful, _teasing—_ “Does this mean you like me, then?”

“Yes” Youngjo laughs again, pulls Keonhee off the chair on to his lap—buries his face on Seoho’s back with the dumbest fucking _smile and—_

“Nice” and he takes Geonhak’s hand in his, lets their fingers intertwine before he pulls him in—another brush of lips, sparks from his fingertips that make Geonhak _jump—_

And Seoho pulls away—and then Keonhee’s jumping off Youngjo’s lap and half on top of Seoho, mess of limbs as he cries and whispers that he’s happy and he really likes Seoho and and _and and and—_

And Seoho kisses him, too—and it’s something to easy, so _natural—_ it’s something that clutches at his heart and doesn’t let go, hand in Keonhee’s hair, buried in soft purple as he kisses Keonhee’s tears away, breathes out laughter against his lips, feels the cold of his braces before he pulls away—

And they talk—talk about themselves, what this _means—_ talk about maybe falling in love, talk about limits and about _finding—_

None of them have an answer for how things work, but that’s okay— Seoho’s willing to give, willing to take—willing to let his heart go and let himself feel—

Seoho belongs—belongs in love and in being loved—and it’ll take time to believe in himself, believe in _belonging—_

But that, too, is fine—so long as he lets himself _breathe—_

(Later, after Keonhee’s gone through half a roll of toilet paper and has tired himself out, Seoho finds himself _trapped_ under a mess of limbs—with Geonhak’s warmth next to him as he leans his head on Seoho’s shoulder—with Keonhee’s odd angles and pointy _bones_ on his lap, Keonhee sitting as best as he can on top of Geonhak _and_ Seoho—with Youngjo’s hands carding through his hair as he sits next to them, all lovesick and stupid and with his halo leaping in happiness—

Cute.

Seoho pushes Keonhee away from his chest softly, leaves a little kiss to his jaw before moving a little to the side, a little back—

“Youngjo-hyung” Seoho’s voice is still a little shaken, still a little _scared—_ but Youngjo’s gaze is so _warm,_ safe—and Keonhee’s warm and all too cute—and Geonhak’s a ball of shyness and _warmth_ as he hides against Seoho’s neck, Keonhee poking at his face with a little laugh, a teary kiss— “C’mere”

“Hm?” Youngjo follows Seoho’s hand—takes it in his as he leans just _close enough—_

“Haven’t kissed your properly yet” and Seoho pulls—and Youngjo follows, lets out a little laugh as he lets himself fall on Seoho—lets himself sit so much _closer,_ lips on Seoho’s and against his smile—

And Youngjo maybe cries after they kiss—and then Keonhee starts crying again, hidden against Geonhak’s hair—and then Geonhak’s all too red and complaining as he takes Seoho’s free hand in his and refuses to let go—

And Youngjo maybe whispers to Seoho that he loves him, that he’s lovely—that ever since he met him, he’s thought Seoho was one of the most beautiful people he’s ever seen—that getting to know him just made that so much more clear, so much more _visible—_ and maybe Youngjo whispers a hundred little compliments, a hundred little confessions of love—and maybe Keonhee tells him to just _shut up—_

And then Youngjo pulls Keonhee to his lap—and Geonhak _yelps,_ hides against Seoho’s shoulder instead—and then Keonhee and Youngjo are arguing and kissing again, cuddling so stupidly cute on the very cramped bed they have all yet to move from—

And then Geonhak’s letting their fingers intertwine, dropping a kiss against Seoho’s shoulder, another to his cheek, to his ear—

And Seoho’s warm—and he’s scared, and he’s happy—

And it’s okay, he thinks, to let himself fall in love.)

**Author's Note:**

> writing ot4 is.. a first? and i sort of found the direction of this fic, like, on the way and as i wrote it.. was a ride to write sthng with dynamics im not used to focusing a lot on, and its not perfect, but i had fun! so i hope u liked it as well :')
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/frosmxths)
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> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/frosmxths)


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